


If You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going

by hatethesilence312



Series: Mates AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Family Problems, Feelings, Finished, Flashbacks, Hunters, I made up some hunters, I tagged graphic violence, Kidnapping, M/M, Mates, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Mentions of attempted suicide, Mistletoe, POV Derek, Pre-Slash, Supernatural reference, Wolf!Derek, Wolfsbane, alcoholic tendencies, alpha pack, and fluff, and get on his nerves, because I can't deal with the deaths from that, because I'm a total sap, because there was some violence, but nooo, guys I didn't mean for this fic to be so serious, i guess, idk if it was really graphic but close enough, kind of, like Derek thinks of his family sometimes, no alpha pack yet, now there are feelings and plot, oh my, season three hasn't happened yet, so I'm going to pretend they didn't happen, so original characters, some people tagged haven't been mentioned yet, stiles would just follow derek, the alpha pack has finally showed up, the checkout girl thinks derek's hot, thought it would be stupid, trigger warning, until they kissed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatethesilence312/pseuds/hatethesilence312
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek knew Stiles was his mate from that very first day in the woods. It was something his mother had talked about endlessly—the importance of mates.<br/>(...)<br/>That didn’t mean he liked the idea. He did not want to be mated to the Sheriff’s loudmouthed jailbait son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mates

**Author's Note:**

> My beginning chapters are always a little rough, so bear with me here. This idea just kept nagging at me. More will be added later.

Derek knew Stiles was his mate from that very first day in the woods. It was something his mother had talked about _endlessly_ —the importance of mates.

            _“It’s different for everyone, the way they_ know. _For some people, all it takes is one glance. The instant their eyes meet, their wolves just_ know. _Sometimes it takes an event for them to realize—one saves the other, or they work as a team to defeat some evil, any event. Sometimes a werewolf can mate with a human, but it’s a rare event. The bond is most often, but not always, weaker in response. It is quite easier to ignore a bond with a human than that with another werewolf.”_

But there was nothing weak about the bond that had formed instantly between Stiles and himself. He heard them coming—clumsy feet and loud voices—and then, moments later, there was his _scent._ It was stronger than it should have been, stronger than any other scent has ever been, and it had made Derek curious and uneasy. So Derek went to meet them.

            He took one look at the boy with the buzzcut and something in his gut lurched and that was it. He _knew._

That didn’t mean he _liked_ the idea. He did not _want_ to be mated to the Sheriff’s loudmouthed jailbait son.

            His mother had told him that the bond between a human and a wolf was weaker. He decided to ignore the boy until the bond was broken. He would move across the country and pretend they never met.

            But Scott was a problem, though. Derek could hardly leave a freshly bitten werewolf to terrorize his town. (The fact that Derek’s mate would likely be the first one dead was _definitely not_ why. No. Not at all.)

            So Derek decided he would stay long enough to teach Scott to control himself, and then he would leave and never look back.

            That didn’t work. Once Scott was no longer a problem, there were _other_ issues. There were threats to the town’s—most specifically Stiles’— safety that they couldn’t deal with without Derek.

            And then he had to make a pack. He had no choice, he needed the strength. Each person he bit was like another root digging into the ground, keeping him there. He _couldn’t leave._

He decided that the next best thing would be to make Stiles hate him. He figured it would be easy. Stiles was easy to read and Derek could figure him out just enough to know what behaviors irked Stiles.

             He hated it when Derek _“lurked”_ so Derek deliberately placed himself in the woods next to the lacrosse field every practice.

            He hated it when Derek showed up silently and would only announce his arrival by standing close to Stiles and saying his name in his hear.

            He hated it when Derek was cryptic and quiet.

            There were a lot of things about Derek that Stiles hated. This made his wolf whimper and want to change, but Derek didn’t care.

            Just because his wolf was in love with Stiles, didn’t mean Derek was.

            In fact, Derek barely even _tolerated_ Stiles at first. But it was in Derek’s nature to care about him, unfortunately, and it wasn’t take long before Derek had a bizarre fondness for the boy.

            There was something about the way Stiles was willing to cut off Derek’s arm, even if the idea made him queasy, when he got shot with the wolfsbane bullet.  It made Derek wonder if maybe he was wrong to assume the worst of everyone—maybe some people would be willing to do anything for a stranger they just met. Or maybe it was just Stiles.

            Derek knew he had feelings for the boy when he held Derek’s paralyzed body above water for who knows how long. He knew his mother had been wrong about the weakness of a werewolf-human mate. He knew he would always be drawn to Stiles.

            It made him want to work harder to keep him away.     

            Stiles had everything in the world going for him—he was smart, and honest, and a genuinely good person, and he could do anything. He was going to grow up and go to an Ivy League college outside of Beacon Hills and he would leave the town and never look back. He would fly in to visit his father on holidays, his beautiful wife’s hand in his, his children in his arms.

            The weird thing was that the idea didn’t bother Derek. He _wanted_ that for Stiles. He wanted Stiles to be safe and happy more than anything else. Stiles would be safer once he left for college and found a human partner. As long as Stiles didn’t know about the mate bond that connected the two of them, Stiles would be happy.

            The knowledge would ruin his future. Derek knew that for sure. Stiles is the kind of person who can’t leave anything along. He’d poke and prod his way deeper into Derek’s life and Derek wouldn’t be able to get him _out._ Stiles wouldn’t go away to a good college—to busy trying to maintain a committed relationship with Derek—and he wouldn’t have children and he wouldn’t have the future he deserved. Derek knew that if they ever did try to be together, it would be terrible. They butt heads too often. They’d be in fights every night, screaming and hating each other. It would end badly, and Derek doesn’t know how he would cope with that. His mother never talked about what happens when mates _break up._ She talked about death separating mates, and the pain of that, but she never mentioned what would happen to the werewolf if the relationship just didn’t work out.

            After Jackson and Lydia’s emotional scene, Derek began having training sessions outside his house twice a week. The very first lesson, Jackson shifted. That was when they learned that the bite took and he was no longer a kanima, but a werewolf.

            The lessons were going fine. Derek had become quite the punching bag, but he was an alpha, so the marks were gone by the time he was being attacked again.

            Everything was fine.

            Until it wasn’t, because he heard too familiar footsteps tripping through the woods and then a low thud and “Shit!”

            He let out a loud roar, loud enough that all his betas turned to stare with horrified eyes and Stile could hear it where he was.

            “So much for element of surprise,” Stiles grumbled quietly. Derek stood in front of the trees, right where he knew Stiles would be coming through in a few minutes.

            His pack was still confused. Stiles wasn’t _their_ mate, they didn’t hear him yet.

            He’d write it off as extra alpha senses.

            By the time Stiles did make it into the clearing, the rest of the pack had caught on and quickly shifted back. Derek didn’t, though. He let his fangs and claws remain elongated, let his eyes glow red.

            “Er, hi, Derek,” He said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

            “What are you doing here?”

            He ran his hand through his hair—he was growing it out, and it frustrated Derek how much he liked the new look—and sighed. “Scott’s been complaining in school a lot about how much you guys all smell like each other.” He gestures to the pack. “Instead of putting on his big boy pants and coming to see what you’re doing himself—”

            “He asked _you_ to come?”

            “Whoa. What, am I not _good_ enough to crash your furry friends’ clubhouse meeting?”

            Derek took a deep breath and closed his eyes and shifted back. “It’s not safe for you here.”

            “What, do you think Erica’s going to impale me on her nail file?

            Derek glanced over his shoulder to where Erica was, indeed, filing her nails.

            “We were training up until a little bit ago. If  you hadn’t announced your arrival so noisily, we might not have noticed you were here until it was too late. When we’re training, we aren’t _thinking,_ it’s basic instinct. We might mistake you for a threat. And then you’d be in trouble.”

            Stiles made a show of blinking and staring at him in awe. “Wow, Derek. I’ve never heard you use so many words. That’s astonishing, really. Consider me impressed.”

            “Go home, Stiles.”

            “So what is this, werewolf boot camp?”

            He walked right past Derek, and that’s when Derek smelled it. Stiles’ blood.

            “You’re hurt,” Derek said instinctively, whirling on Stiles.

            “Not really,” Stiles looked at him in confusion. “I just tripped.”

            “You’re bleeding.”

            Derek’s gaze raked the boy up and down, and then he saw it. The small tear toward the side of Stiles’ t shirt, the scratch underneath it.

            Stiles followed Derek’s gaze. “Aw, this was my favorite shirt!”

            “That’s pathetic,” Erica laughed.

            Stiles threw her a look and lifted the shirt up to inspect his side.

            Derek tried really hard not to gawk at the surprising muscles that rippled under the skin of his abdomen as he basically flexed to check out his injury.

            “Wow,” Erica cooed. “You’re pretty buff, aren’t you, Stiles?”

            He dropped his shirt. “That depends on how you define buff.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Well, buff can mean _off white_ —which applies, I’m pale—or to make a surface polished and that makes no sense—or muscular, or—”

            “Is it safe to assume tonight’s lesson is over?”

            Stiles jerked his head back in annoyance as she interrupted him.

            “No,” Derek growled, “Stiles. Go home.”

            “Actually—”

            “No.”

            “—I think I’ll stay. I wanna see what this is like.”

            “No.”

            Stiles rolled his eyes and dropped down on the steps leading to the porch beside Erica. “Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not here.”

            “I wish you weren’t here.”

            “Aw, Derbear, don’t be like that.”

            “Don’t call me that.”

            Stiles just laughed.

            Derek heaved a tired sigh. Stiles was relentless and the only way he’d go home would be for Derek to forcibly carry him, and that was less than ideal. “Alright, then. Boyd and Erica, Jackson and Isaac. Go.”

            His pack jumped up and shifted and started moving around predatorily.

            “Erica. Lure him toward you. You’ve only ever been the attacker. You need to learn defense, too.”

            Derek watched Erica shift back onto her heels as opposed to the balls of her feet. She raised her chin and met Boyd’s gaze, backing up slowly. He charged at her and she pressed her hands against his shoulder and launched herself up, flipping over him, landing on the ground a foot behind him. She threw herself forward, pressing her claws against the side of his neck.

            Meanwhile, Jackson and Isaac were considerably less flashy. Jackson was all angry and barreling forward, Isaac was calm and calculated, sidestepping his attacks and grabbing his arm, using that leverage to flip him onto the ground and dive downward, stopping with his teeth an inch from Jackson’s neck.

            “Boyd and Jackson, Erica and Isaac. Go.”

            “Jackson, control yourself. You’re being too personal. This is _instinct.”_

After a few more rounds, Stiles got up and came to stand next to Derek. “I need to go. I need to make curfew. And I walked here, so...”

            “Why?”

            “Well. My jeep kind of broke down. Actually, it wouldn’t start at all when I tried to leave school. I called my dad and he came and got me, but he wouldn’t understand if I asked him to drive me to the remains of the Hale house at weird hours, so I figured the fresh air would do me good.”

            Derek sighed. There might not be an immediate threat in the area, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea for Stiles to walk the streets alone at night. Humans still committed human crimes, and Stiles was still vulnerable to those.

            “I’ll give you a ride.”

            “Can I drive?”

            “You think I’m going to let you drive my _Camaro_ when you just broke your _Jeep?”_

“Hey! It’s not my fault! My baby is _old_ and she’s been through hell, okay?”

            Derek just rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you guys decide if you’re done with training today. I’m giving Stiles a ride home.”

            “Bye bitches,” Stiles sang and Derek glared.

            “I can make you walk.”

            “Shutting up.”

            Derek rolled his eyes again as he unlocked his car and got in. Stiles got in too and turned to look at him. “Careful. Rolling your eyes like that—you could strain something.”

            Derek didn’t respond, just started the car and started along the small road he’d formed through the trees.

 

 


	2. Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has an idea. Derek thinks it'll help the pack bond. Stiles and Derek bond instead.

            The problem with Stiles was he never goes away.

            He came to every training session, sitting on the porch steps. After he got three splinters and a stubbed toe, Derek decided it was time to get a new place.

            He rented a small house on a mostly deserted street, right next to the woods. He didn’t do much furnishing—he got a black couch and a bed—but it was better than the remains of his old house.

            Once they were all at his old house for the session, Derek took a deep breath. “I have an announcement to make.”

            All heads snapped around to look at him as he continued. “I’m renting a new place to live. This house just isn’t working anymore.”

            They all nodded. Stiles was the only one to speak up.

            “I’m sure your new place is great. If you want to get a fresh start, that is completely understandable. In fact, why don’t we knock this place down? It’ll give you guys more room to wrestle around.”

            The growl that escaped Derek was automatic and defensive.

            “Alright, so you’re clearly still attached to this house emotionally. Why don’t we fix it up? We can make it look completely new—or exactly the same, if you need it to.”

            Derek thought about it briefly. “I don’t know.”

            “Come on. It’ll be a great way for the pack to bond.”

            And suddenly it was a good idea. The pack _did_ need something to push them a little closer. The house seemed like the perfect opportunity.

*           *           *

            He got to the house early the next day. Stiles had texted him the night before saying ‘ _We’ll start at nine’._

Derek was there by 7:30 and he took about an hour to just walk around the burnt remains, seeing what areas needed the most help.

            At about 8:30, he heard Stiles’ jeep pulling up. He went down to the porch to meet him and was moderately surprised to see a grumpy Scott in his passenger seat.

            “I come bearing coffee!” Stiles announced as he stumbled out of the car, holding up the cardboard tray loaded with cups. “Everyone else should be on their way. I texted them all requesting coffee orders.” He set the tray down on the porch and picked up a cup. “This one is yours—black, like your soul. With sugar, because Erica said you don’t like it if your coffee is bitterer than you.”

            Derek sighed but took the cup. “Thanks.”

            He rolled his eyes when he saw _Sourwolf_ scrawled across the cup.

            “No problem, buddy.” He sipped his own mug and Derek took a deep breath.

            “What are you drinking?”

            “Herbal tea,” Stiles replied, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Coffee makes me jittery.”

            “Aren’t you _always_ jittery?”

            “ _No._ I have ADHD, you’re being extremely inconsiderate. I _fidget,_ thank you very much.”

            “They mean just about the same thing.”

            “If you had ADHD, you’d know the difference.”

            “I’m sure.”

            Stiles glared and took an angry sip of his herbal tea.

            “Coffee,” Erica grumbled when she walked through the trees, Boyd on her heels.

            “Good morning, sunshine!” Stiles sang in her face, smiling. Isaac and Jackson appeared not long after.

            “Okay! I hope you’re all very good with power tools, because I’m not!” Stiles said brightly.

            “This is not going to end well,” Boyd went flatly.

            Stiles walked around and opened the trunk of his car. “I stole my dad’s drills, saws, and other things that I have _no clue_ what they are.”

            He straightened up, holding a hammer in his hands and grinning. “Here goes nothing!”

*           *           *

            They worked for hours. Isaac, Scott, Jackson, and Boyd were up on the roof, ripping off shingles and dropping them into the large trashcan that Lydia and Allison had brought with them. The girls were pulling up floorboards throughout the house. Stiles was... interesting.

            Derek appointed himself Stiles Watcher, and he followed the boy around, doing whatever he did.

            First he started hammering at dry wall, which was a bit nerve-wracking. He was yanking the hammer back so hard it was hitting his back.

            “Be careful,” Derek warned, catching the tool before the sharp points used for digging screws out could dig into his shoulder.

            “Oops.”

            He tore down almost all the walls in the house—not the ones needed to support it, of course, but the unnecessary hollow drywall.

            By the time they were done with the downstairs, Stiles had stripped off his plaid shirt and was now just in a light gray graphic t-shirt. There were darkened sweat stains under his arms and in a long line down his spine.  Derek had stripped off his Henley and was now in his black wife beater under shirt.

            He flinched when Stiles yanked his arms back and slammed the hammer into the window. The sound of shattering glass pierced his ears as it rained down onto the lawn outside. Stiles did this to all the windows and then turned to Derek.

            “Will the roof fall down on me if I take this wall down?”

            “No.”

            So he started hacking at it. Derek helped.

            Eventually the whole place was basically wall-free and the ceiling was torn apart and there were no windows.

            Scott and Jackson went out and rented a pickup truck and came back with it loaded with wood.

            Stiles said that he didn’t really trust himself with much more. “Demolishing I can handle. There aren’t many ways you can mess up destroying something. But _building. . .”_

So he went out and got lunch while they worked.

            By the time he was back, the afternoon sun was blazing. Derek had taken off his wife beater and it was now in the back pocket of his jeans.

            Stiles let out a low whistle. “Wow, this place looks like a strip club.”

            Derek looked around. All of the guys had abandoned their shirts, Allison had taken off her t-shirt and was now in a tank top, and Erica was in a sports bra.

            “I’ve got pizzas!” He yelled.

            Jackson and Boyd jumped out what used to be a window from where they were rebuilding floorboards upstairs. Erica, Allison, and Lydia stopped working on the porch and came over. Isaac and Scott came down the stairs and out the door as opposed to the window method.

            “The wolves descend,” Stiles laughed loudly. In the passenger seat of his car, he had about 10 pizzas.

            By the time lunch was over, the boxes were all emptied and tossed into the trashcans. Derek took stiles inside and reminded him that they had stairs to redo as well.

            “Uh, Derek?” Stiles’ voice was cautious.

            “What?”

            “I found something.” Derek moved up to sit beside Stiles. In his hands was a small teddy bear, perfectly clean and undamaged. Derek’s hands shook as he took it from Stiles. It smelled like Cora.

            “My mom,” He said quietly, “claimed that we _never_ had enough space to store things. She hallowed out some of the stairs and used them as drawers. I totally forgot.”

            Stiles reached out for Derek automatically, his hand hesitating for a minute before settling on Derek’s knee.

            “Was he yours?”

            “No. It belonged to my sister Cora. She slept with it every night, said it kept bad dreams away. She always brought it to school with her because she thought it was good luck. The boy she liked saw teased her and told her it was babyish and stupid and she came home crying and threw it at me and told me to get rid of it. I didn’t want to—I was afraid she might need it sometime—so I gave it to my mom to keep safe.”

            Stiles scooted closer and put his whole arm around Derek. He smelled like mate and comfort and safety.

            “My mom wore the same perfume all the time. It smelled like apples and cinnamon and I associated it with her.” His voice shook and Derek was surprised. Stiles never mentioned his mom and everyone knew better than to ask. “After, when my dad was packing all her stuff up, I grabbed the bottles—one half empty, one full—and hid them in my room. On bad days I would spray it once on the inside of my wrist, and if I was ever feeling a panic attack come on, I would just smell it until I calmed down. One day, while I was getting changed in the locker room, Jackson caught a whiff of it and slammed me into a locker and mocked me for _wearing chick perfume.”_

“Did you stop wearing it?” Derek asked quietly.

            “No. I lashed out and broke his nose and told him he could talk to me when his mom died.”

            Derek was shocked. He could picture it though, Stiles slamming his fist into Jackson’s face. It wasn’t unreasonable.

            “You don’t wear it anymore.” It wasn’t a question. If there was anything in the world Derek knew, it was Stiles’ scent, and it wasn’t laced with apples and cinnamon.

            “No. I had to explain to my dad why I attacked Jackson, and I told him. He confiscated the full bottle, and told me once the half empty one was gone, I was done. He said it was unhealthy and I wasn’t coping and he put me in therapy. He doesn’t know that I saw it in his sock drawer, that I smelled it on him, too, later.”

            “Did that help? The therapy?”

            “No.” His voice was flat. “I had twice as many panic attacks once the perfume was gone and I didn’t know how to stop them. They would go one for so long that I would kind of lose my mind. One lasted a full hour—an hour of shaking rooms and the air being too thick to fill my lungs and I had given up, figured that I was going to be like that until I died. I debated suicide,” He said, his voice low. “I honestly thought about crawling to the bathroom and taking all the prescription drugs we had. I figured anything was better than that hell.”

            “Why didn’t you? Not that I’m not glad you didn’t—I am—but I just... If you were in such a hopeless place...”

            “My dad came home from work and found me in the bathroom crying my eyes out and hyperventilating and staring at the pills in my hand. He tackled me to the ground and rushed me to the hospital and they put me in a mental hospital under suicide watch. I realized that I couldn’t do it. No matter what hell I was going through, I needed to be okay for him. You should have seen his _face.”_ Stiles closed his eyes. “He looked like _he_ was the one who’d had the hour long panic attack. He looked like he was dying.”

            “You’re so much stronger than anyone gives you credit for. You know that?”

            There was a long pause and then he said. “You are too. I know we give you a lot of shit about being emotionally constipated and everything but... Honestly. If I’d lost my entire family, nothing would have stopped me from downing those pills.”

            Derek shut his eyes and took deep breaths. “We need to go back to working on the stairs,” He said finally, his voice strained.

            “Right,” Stiles said, turning around and going at taking them apart. Derek lowered himself back down to the step he had been working on before, setting the teddy bear aside.

            “Derek?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Thanks.”

            Derek didn’t know what he was being thanked for—the comment about Stiles’ strength, or listening, or giving him the distraction of work—but he didn’t want to ask.

            “Yeah.”

 


	3. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is lonely and Derek is a liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of hurt to write because I don't like mean Derek, but I know that in all actuality, he probably wouldn't be so quick to let Stiles right in and become all buddy-buddy with him. I had to do it. :/ Oh and there's a little Paige reference in there if you saw that episode and see it.

Derek was lying on his couch, looking at the teddy bear in his hands when he heard Stiles’ heartbeat. He could recognize it anywhere. Mates’ senses toward each other are amplified. Derek could hear, see, and smell Stiles better than anyone else ever could. For a brief second, Derek wondered if his _other_ senses would be stronger, too. If he touched Stiles, if he _tasted_ Stiles, would it be different than if someone else did—

            No. Derek cut himself off from that train of thought. He listened to Stiles take deep breaths outside his door for a minute. And then he was knocking.

            Derek got up, putting the teddy down and walking to the door. He opened it slowly. “Stiles.”

            “Hi.”

            There was a long silence and then Derek paused. “How did you find out what house I was renting?”

            Stiles rolled his eyes easily. “I knew you wouldn’t venture too far from home, so I just drove around until I saw the Camaro.”

            “Is there a reason you were looking for me?”

            “Isaac moved in with Scott. Did you know that?”

            “I did.”

            Stiles nodded. “I’m not jealous, I’m not. I’m glad Scott’s got new friends. But he’s started ignoring all my calls again, just like when he and Allison first got together and I _really_ don’t want to third wheel on him and Isaac.”

            “What do you want _me_ to do, Stiles? Tell Isaac I forbid him from spending time with Scott? I could, but that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.”

            “I _know_ that. I don’t want you to. I figured we could hang out instead.”

            “No.”

            “C’mon Derek. I just don’t like being alone. Please. I won’t get in your way. We can sit in companionable silence while I do homework.”

            Derek doubted Stiles could do any kind of silence, but he didn’t want to tell him no. His wolf was pleading with him—any time with Stiles was time well spent. Derek couldn’t agree or disagree.

            “Fine,” He stepped back. “But if you get on my nerves—”

            “No problem!” Stiles rushed in and looked around. “This place is barren.”

            “Thanks,” Derek said flatly.

            “Hey, no, don’t get me wrong. The lack of ashes everywhere is a wondrous improvement, but _really._ You have a full _pack_ and you got _one_ couch?”

            “This place is temporary anyway.”

            “But that doesn’t mean you should live out of a suitcase in the meantime, Jesus! Would it kill you to have a couch _and_ a loveseat?”

            “I don’t _need_ a couch and a loveseat.”

            “I beg to differ! You can’t sit here if I lay down. You’ll have to stand and brood.”

            “You’re getting on my nerves.”

            Stiles sighed and sat down on his couch. He had his back on the armrest and his knees bent slightly. He opened his backpack and brought out a textbook and notebook and started working.

            Derek turned on the old, used TV he’d gotten for cheap—why did he need a TV anyway?—and sat down by Stiles’ feet.

            It wasn’t long, though, before Stiles was more interesting than the show. His feet would suddenly start tapping out a rhythm, but there was no music. And his damned oral fixation was going to be the death of Derek. Every few seconds, his tongue would slip out of his mouth to rewet his lips, or his teeth would start to nibble on his lower lip, or that same lip would get sucked into his mouth like a pacifier. If he wasn’t abusing his own mouth, he was chewing away at the worn-down eraser of his pencil, or his nails, or his knuckles.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Calculus,” Stiles said absently.

            “Are you even _thinking_ about that?” Stiles’ right hand was absentmindedly writing on his notebook, but the fingers of his left were tapping out some complicated rhythm and Derek would occasionally hear him hum under his breath.

            He looked up at Derek and grinned. “I just took a shitload of Adderall. My focus is laser-like.”

            Derek tried not to flinch. Someone else had something along those lines to him a _long_ time ago. It hadn’t ended well.

            “What about you?”

            “What _about_ me?”

            “How’s that brain you’ve got rolling around in there? Tell me about your high school years.” He shifted his textbook, stretching out and putting his feet in Derek’s lap.

            Derek looked pointedly at his feet but his wolf was all but _purring_ at the contact.

            “Right, sorry,” Stiles lifted his feet long enough to take his shoes off, and then he put his socked feet right back on Derek’s legs. He glared at Stiles, but he didn’t seem to notice.

            “I don’t like to talk about it.” Derek said quietly, and Stiles looked confused and then nodded.

            “Your past, right. Past is the past, got it.”

            He wrote some more in the notebook and then said, quietly, “I think I’m gay.”

            It was so unexpected that Derek’s brain shut down momentarily. Stiles was known for saying random things whenever he feels, but this was different.

            “I never really thought about it before,” He continued, his voice hesitant. “I didn’t really think in terms of _homosexual_ or _heterosexual_ or _bisexual._ I just liked Lydia. I liked her long strawberry hair and her red lips and her _brain._ But I don’t think I like Lydia like that anymore, and I’ve started _thinking_ about it and I . . . I think I find guys more attractive than girls.”

            Derek was still reeling, unsure what to do or say in this conversation. He’d honestly never given much thought to his sexuality either, but it had never mattered to him. He wasn’t going to have a crisis over it. If he wanted to be with someone, he wanted them, male or female.

            “I mean, I see the appeal in girls, I do. They’re all soft curves and long hair and small and delicate. But _men,”_ He looked away from Derek, blushing. “I’m sorry. This is probably making you extremely uncomfortable. Shutting up.”

            “It’s okay,” Derek said quickly. “You—it’s fine. It doesn’t bother me. I’m not _that_ big of an asshole.”

            Stiles took a deep breath and smiled at him cautiously. “I’ve been kinda debating telling people, but it’s a little unnerving, you know? Like, when Danny came out, no one cared. But Danny was best friends with Jackson, and Jackson would kill anyone who ever looked at him funny. But...”

            “You don’t think that’ll be extended toward you.”

            “Of course not. Jackson _hates_ me. He’d probably shove me into a locker during lacrosse when Danny wasn’t around.”

            “What did Scott say?”

            “I actually haven’t told him yet. I—he—Scott’s a great guy and my best friend, but we’ve been best friends for so long and I don’t think I could cope if he suddenly got uncomfortable around me.”

            “He wouldn’t care. You’re still Stiles.”

            “You’re right. I know. Scott’s great and I’m wrong for even _thinking_ that, but I just—it makes me nervous. We’ve been growing apart a lot since he’s started dating Allison and became all buddy-buddy with Isaac...”

            “Talk to him. It’ll help.” Probably.

            “Yeah. I haven’t told my dad yet—but I kinda did. He told me I wasn’t gay because I don’t dress the part.” 

            “What?”

            “I know. But whatever. I don’t think he’d approve of my taste in guys anyway.”

            Derek tried really hard not to think about Stiles having a _type._

“Why are you telling me this?”

            “Because we’re friends,” Stiles said blankly. “Right?”

            _Yes._ “No.”

            Derek knew he would be in serious danger of falling in love with Stiles if the kid kept hanging around. If he fell in _love_ with him he’d have to tell him. There was no way Derek would be able to hide that. So he had to keep Stiles away.

            “No, Stiles. We’re not friends.”

            He could _smell_ the hurt starting to flood the boy. His body was too tense and he was looking anywhere but at Derek.

            “Because we’re _best_ friends?” The attempt at the joke was weak and half-hearted.

            “No, Stiles. We aren’t any kind of friends.”

            Stiles’ face turned red and he yanked his feet off of Derek’s lap. He shoved his stuff into his bag and threw it over his shoulder, shoving his shoes on. “I’ll get out of your hair then,” He said sharply, and then he was gone, sprinting out the door and slamming it behind him.

            Derek’s head fell into his hands as he listened to Stiles get in the jeep and go. He was still in Derek’s hearing range when he screeched to the side of the road and Derek heard the sound of him hitting something—the steering wheel, he assumed—hard and going “Damn it!” His voice thick with tears.

            “I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

*           *           *

            “What the hell did you do to Stiles?”

            Scott stood, reeking of anger, in Derek’s doorway less than two hours later.

            “Excuse me?”

            “First he rejected all my calls, so I was worried, you know? So I went to go see him and he was a mess! His eyes were all red and he was extra twitchy—like he gets when he’s upset—and not himself and he smelled like _you._ So I repeat. What _did you do?”_

“I didn’t do anything.”

            “That’s such bull! Just tell me so I can tell him you didn’t mean it and he can feel better!”

            “ _I_ didn’t do anything. Maybe if _you_ would stop ignoring him in favor of your new friend, he wouldn’t feel like he needed to take comfort in _my_ company.”

            Scott looked as though Derek had just punched him. “I haven’t been ignoring him.”

            “Look at your phone. How many missed calls from Stiles? How many texts that you didn’t respond to?”

            Scott shut his eyes. “I didn’t mean to leave him out, I just—it’s nice having Isaac, you know? He’s like the brother I never—”

            “The brother Stiles has always been for you,” Derek snapped.

            Scott grimaced.

            “You’ve done this before, you know. With Allison.”

            “That is totally different.”

            “Is it really? Ignored texts and calls, leaving him alone all the time...”

            “I didn’t—he’s not this upset over _me.”_

“I may have also pointed out that Stiles and I aren’t friends.”

            “Great timing,” Scott spat, “Because he feels like he has lots of great friends right now. Ugh. I’ll go talk to him. I’ll tell him you’re sorry.”

            “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

            “You don’t feel bad at all?” Scott raised his eyebrows. “You don’t feel like a dick for kicking a man while he’s down?”

            “I’m not okay with being a temporary replacement for you. He needs to know that.”

            “Okay, that’s fine. But this is _Stiles.”_

“Go home, Scott.”

            Before he could reply, Derek slammed the door and went back to sit on the couch. He listened to Scott grumble about him under his breath and leave.

            As soon as he was out of earshot, Derek grabs Cora’s teddy bear and hugs it to his chest. Scott’s words had painted an all-too-clear picture of Stiles, eyes rimmed in red, looking at the ground and chewing his nails and bouncing his knees. Derek could still smell how much his words had hurt Stiles.

            If someone had told him last year that he would feel ridiculously guilty about telling Stiles Stilinski that they weren’t friends, he would have laughed and probably smashed their head on something. How was this his life now?

 


	4. Mistaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is the glue that holds the pack together, checkout girls are mistaken, old ladies eavesdrop, and the Sheriff is the best dad ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I kind of killed you with mean!Derek and sad!Stiles last chapter. I tried to be funny in this one to make up for it. Things typically don't go well when I try to be funny.

At 9 the following morning, the pack all came to the Hale house besides Scott and Stiles. Derek didn’t know what he expected.

            “Where’s my coffee?” Erica grumbled as soon as she was in sight. “I don’t smell coffee.”

            “Stilinski brings coffee,” Jackson reminded her. “Do you see Stilinski?”

            “Where is he?”

            “He’s not going to be coming today,” Derek said in a firm voice. It was a voice that insisted that no questions be asked.

            “Are we really going to do this without him?” Isaac asked quietly.

            “Yes. This is for more than just Stiles. This is for us, as a pack.”

            Things went noticeably worse that day than they did the day before. The Erica and Jackson yelled insults at each other the whole time they tried to redo the roof. The fighting made Isaac’s head hurt so he worked much slower, pausing to massage his temple every time the shouting began. Boyd just worked in silence, grunting whenever Jackson made a low blow aimed at Erica.

            “That’s enough!”Derek yelled finally. “What’s wrong with you two? We are a _pack!”_

“Oh, please,” Erica snorts. “You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t realize that Stiles was the reason we were able to bear one another.”

            “That doesn’t make sense.”

            “Yes it does. When Stiles is here, _he’s_ Jackson’s punching bag, not me. And Stiles has been trained his whole life to deal with Jackson being an asshole. He’s good at it. It doesn’t bother him the way it does me. If I could kill Jackson by pushing him off this roof, I would have done it long ago. Too bad he’d just heal.”

            Derek took a breath. “That doesn’t matter. Stiles isn’t here now and we need to be able to function without him.”

            “What could you possibly do to deter him? He’s like an itch you can’t scratch—he _never leaves.”_

“He did this time, okay? That’s it. End of discussion. The next person who talks will be punished. And you’ve all seen how long it takes to heal from wounds caused by an alpha.”

            “But—”

            Derek growled at Erica so loudly that Boyd tensed and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for Derek’s attack. He didn’t attack her though. The message went through loud and clear.

            They all went back to working. It somehow managed to be _worse_ in the awkward silence. Derek knew he’d probably gone a little overboard, but the fighting was out of hand and they needed to know that Derek was in control.

            Roughly an hour later, he heard it: the jeep pulling into the woods. He tensed and stared, waiting. Stiles pulled up and got out, silently walking around to the passenger’s side and pulling out another 10 boxes of pizza. Derek jumped off the roof and landed behind him. The pack all followed his lead.

            “Well, aren’t you all very cool,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I figured Sourwolf here didn’t think about _food_ and I’m against animal abuse, so here I am.”

            Erica bounced forward and wrapped her arms around Stiles. His face turned from a fairly cool mask to complete shock.

            “Whoa. I know I’m the best and pizza is delicious but _a hug._ That is a serious improvement from hitting me with my own car parts.”

            She laughed. “Will you stay after lunch?”

            “Nah, I really shouldn’t.”

            “Why not?” Isaac asked.

            Stiles scratched behind his ear. “I’ve got lots of stuff to do, you know? AP Calculus is a bitch, and my dad’s dinner doesn’t cook itself—”

            “Stiles, it’s _Spring Break._ How much calc homework can you have?” Erica snapped.

            Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. “I just need to go, okay? But first—Derek, can we talk for a second?”

            Derek nodded and gave his pack a meaningful look. “Stiles and I are gonna run out and get a liter of soda. Wait here.”

            “Get two,” Jackson said around a mouthful of pizza.

            Stiles got in the his jeep and Derek walked around to sit beside him.

            “So, about yesterday—” Stiles began as soon as he was driving.

            “Wait. They can still hear us.”       

            “Oh.”

            Once they were clear of the woods and halfway down the street, Derek nodded.

            “Okay. I’m sorry about yesterday.”

            Derek’s head snapped around to stare at Stiles. _He_ was sorry? He was apologizing because Derek hurt his feelings? Stiles kept his eyes glued on the road, but he was sitting too straight and his hands were clenched too tightly around the wheel.

            “No, Stiles—”

            “No. I don’t mean I’m sorry I thought we were friends—that’s all your fault, misleading jerk—I just. Yesterday was the anniversary of my mom dying.” Stiles’ voice was thick and wet and it felt like getting stabbed in the chest. “And every year I freak out a little bit. I typically hang out with Scott all day to distract myself, but he was too busy with Isaac and didn’t notice the date. I tried to do some calc work at home alone before I came over, but I couldn’t focus. So I took too much Adderall. When that didn’t help, I knew I needed someone to be there with me. So I went to find you. I should have realized this friendship was really one-sided and kind of forced upon you. I shouldn’t have been so freaking sensitive about it. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

            “I didn’t know. . .”

            “I know that. I never told you, how _could_ you know? Oh, and I’m sorry I didn’t show up this morning. I set my alarm and totally planned on coming—I’m nothing if not persistent—but I was afraid of being unwanted and getting on your nerves. And it’s not like I’m a lot help anyway. I just. . . I can imagine how hard this project must be for you. I wanted to come to be some support. I'm not the kind of person to just bail on someone. I suggested this in the first place, I should have been more consistent, I should have been there for you—”

            “Stiles, I’m not mad at you.”

            That seemed to relax him. His spine curled as his back leaned onto the seat and he took one hand off the wheel to scratch at his temple. He pulled into the grocery store lot and hopped out of the jeep without responding.

            Walking through the aisles with Stiles felt strangely domestic and familiar. His wolf was purring contentedly, a warm weight vibrating between Derek’s ribs, and he regretted ever pushing Stiles away the way he did.

            “Do you drink whiskey?” Stiles asked suddenly as he was sticking a two liter bottle of Coke and a liter of sprite into Derek’s basket.

            “I-no? I don’t drink. I can’t get drunk.”

            “I know. I was just wondering if you drank it because of the taste or anything.”

            “Why?”

            Stiles sighed heavily. “My dad drinks when he gets stressed and misses my mom. Last night he drank so much I was afraid I was going to have to hospitalize him. So I’m going to make his whiskey collection start disappearing slowly. I figured instead of pouring it down the drain I could just give it to you.”

            “Have you debated taking him to an alcoholics anonymous thing or something?”

            “No. I mean, I have, but I’m not going to. He’s not an alcoholic, he just drinks too much sometimes. He’s okay most of the time.”

            Derek wonders what Stiles’ life must really be like. His mom died from cancer, leaving him with one parent who works forever-changing hours. His dad has alcoholic tendencies and his best friend got bitten by a werewolf. Derek decided that Stiles must go through a lot of pain, and that he just hides it very well.

            “Stiles?”

            “Do you think the kiddies would be okay if we got water instead? It’s a healthier alternative and—”           

            “Stiles.”

            “What?”

            “Can we be friends?”

            Stiles dropped the 12 pack of water he’d been holding. It hits the floor with a loud bang and several people turn to stare. “I’m okay, it’s okay, it’s not broken,” He called out. “We’re definitely buying this now,” He told Derek.

            Derek took the package and gave Stiles the basket instead. They were walking to checkout when Stiles said, quietly, “I don’t need your pity.”

            “It’s not that. I just—I realized we both are alone a lot and the friendship thing might be good for us.”

            Stiles stopped walking and turned to stare at Derek. “Christo!”

            “Excuse me?”

            “So you haven’t been possessed,” Stiles said, leaving Derek totally confused.

            “What?”

            “Nevermind. Do you have Netflix? You’d totally _love_ Supernatural, oh my god.”

            They’d continued walking again and they got to the checkout line. Derek put the sodas and the water on the conveyer belt.

            “So is that a yes?”

            “Well, duh. You knew the answer when you asked.”

            The girl behind the counter smiled at them as she read off the total. Derek paid and started working to squeeze both the twelve pack of water and the liters in the basket to carry to the car.

            She leaned over in his peripheral vision, toward Stiles, and Derek tensed, prepared to rip her throat out if she attacked him.

            “Your boyfriend’s a hottie,” She whispered instead.

            Derek felt heat move to his ears.    

            “I know right,” Stiles said back. “You should see him _naked.”_

Derek couldn’t hold back the surprised choke that came out of his throat in response.

            Derek didn’t look back at them as he walked away. Stiles yelled out “Guess I’m not getting laid now!” And chased after him.

            “What the hell, Stiles?”

            He rolled his eyes and unlocked the jeep, opening the trunk. Derek put the bags in it and then went to sit in the passenger’s seat again.

            “Oh calm down, Sourwolf I was just humoring her. I figured it’d be  good laugh—she thought _you_ were in a relationship with _me._ Like _I_ was with _you,”_ Stiles laughed and  his tone was clearly implying something.

            “What does that mean?”

            “Have you seen a mirror? Why would _anyone_ assume _you_ would be with an awkward and clumsy teenager?” He snorted and drove away. “I mean, I’m _fantastic_ and my personality definitely makes up for what my physical appearance leaves to be desired. But she didn’t know that.”

            Derek didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say.

*           *           *

            Stiles had stayed to help Derek and Erica rebuild the porch. They were mostly done with one section when Stiles’ phone rang.

            “Dad? Is something wrong?”

            “I need you to tell me something, Stiles.” The Sheriff’s voice came through the line.

            “Sure thing,” He sat back, taking a sip of water.

            “I went to fill the cruiser up with gas about five minutes ago. Why did Mrs. Shirley come over to tell me you’re gay and dating Derek Hale?”

            Stiles spit water across the yard and Derek started choking.

            “Damn eavesdropping old ladies,” Stiles grumbled. “That was a joke, Dad. Derek and I are friends. A bunch of us were hanging out and Derek and I went to the store to get some sodas. The girl at the register was mistaken and thought Derek and I were together. I joked around with her about it and apparently Mrs. Shirley overheard and didn’t realize I was joking.”

            “So you’re not gay and dating Derek Hale?”

            “Derek and I are _just friends,_ Dad.”

            “But. . .”

            “I’m not gay, Dad.” Stiles said, and there was no shift in his heartbeat.

            Derek raised his eyebrow at Stiles who mouthed “bi” at Derek and then _winked._

“Where are you now, Stiles?”

            “Ah-with Derek, and Erica Reyes, and Vernon Boyd, and Jackson Whittemore.”

            “What are you doing with them?”

            “Ah, er, um—”

            “Don’t even try to lie to me. I can have the entire team of police search this whole town until we find you and know exactly what you’re doing.”

            “That would be a waste of funds,” Stiles scolded. “Hardworking people are paying ridiculous taxes so the police can keep them _safe,_ not so one cop can find a way to ground his teenage son. That would be an outrage.”

            “Stiles.”

            “Fine, fine. We’re doing some construction.”

            “Construction,” He repeated. “Where?”

            “We’re rebuilding the Hale house,” Stiles admitted. “Before you get angry, I am being _very_ careful, and they aren’t letting me use dangerous power tools and I’m not allowed on the roof or near anything that could hurt me.”

            “Are you getting _paid_ to do this? Is this some sort of summer job?”

            “No. . .  We’re just helping out a friend in need.”

            “Or Derek Hale is just taking advantage of stupid teenagers willing to provide free labor.”

            “I resent that. I am not stupid, and Derek isn’t taking advantage of us. It was _my_ idea.”

            “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

            “You know that I’m a good kid who cares about everyone too much and wants the people I care about to be happy, even if it means spending all day outside working on a burnt down house.”

            The Sheriff took a deep breath. “The first time you get hurt, you’re done. I don’t care if it’s because you get sunburned or you drive a nail into your finger or you dehydrate or you come home so tired that you fall down the stairs.”

            “You’re the best, you know that. Best dad ever.”

            “Wear sunscreen.”

            Stiles looked at Derek and smiled. Derek let the corner of his mouth lift, smiling back, even if it was just a little.


	5. Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blueprints are drawn, Stiles isn't good with hammers, The Sheriff doesn't like Derek, and Stiles, Derek, and Lydia go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of felt boring and filler-like for me. I'm sorry it took so long.

“How many bedrooms do you want to have?”

            “One for me, one for Isaac, and two spares in case any pack members sleep over.”

            Stiles nodded. Derek, Stiles, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Jackson, Lydia, Allison, and Scott were all crowded around Stiles’ kitchen table, a large blueprint spread out in front of them.

            “Okay, so we have this much space to divide into four rooms,” Scott said, tracing with his finger.

            “What about upstairs bathrooms?” Erica asked. “We honestly cannot share one shower if the whole pack sleeps over.”

            “Two,” Derek said. “But I want one to be _mine.”_

            Erica laughed. “Who are _you_ going to be having shower sex with?”

            Derek sighed. “Maybe I just want my own bathroom _without_ it meaning sex.”

            She rolled her eyes, “If you say so.”

            Stiles stuck the eraser end his pencil in his mouth and began chewing.

            “So we can put bathrooms here, and here,” Boyd points.

            “And just divide the rest evenly,” Scott suggested.

            Lydia rolled her eyes and snatched the pencil  out of Stiles’ mouth and started sketching something in on the blueprints.

            “Ow!” Stiles protested. “I could have chipped a tooth!”

            “If you didn’t feel the need to suck and chew on everything around you, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

            “Hey! I have an oral fixation, alright?”

             She ignored him. “You forgot to include a staircase.”

            All the werewolves tensed when they heard a car pull into the driveway.

            “Your dad’s home,” Derek told Stiles tensely.

            “S’alright, he knows I’ve been hanging out with you guys. He’ll probably be relieved that we’re hanging out here where he can make sure we aren’t selling drugs.”

            The door opened and in walked Sheriff Stilinski.

            “Oh. Hello.” He looked around at the group of teenagers. “Scott,” He nodded at him.

            “Hey,” Scott said familiarly.

            “Lydia Martin,” the Sheriff said in surprise. “I never thought I’d live to see the day _you_ were in my house.”

            “Your faith in me is truly astonishing, Dad,” Stiles said flatly.

            He just laughs. “Derek Hale,” He said gruffly. “Kids,” He waved. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

            “Blueprints for the house,” Stiles said.

            “And eating most of your food,” Scott added helpfully.

            “When _isn’t_ that the case, Scott? Stiles, a word?”

            “Uh, sure.” Stiles followed his dad out of the room.

            “I know I’ve never been strict about when you have company before, but that was always just _Scott._ This is a lot of people, Stiles.”

            “Eight.”

            “That’s seven more than I’m used to housing. Just—give me a warning, next time, okay? Just send me a text telling me who’s coming over and when. Make sure you tell me right away if Hale’s coming over.”

            “Why? What do you have against Derek?”

            “I just want to be able to prove that if you die, he was with you.”

            Stiles groaned loudly. “Oh my god, Dad. Derek’s not a murderer.”

            “You didn’t seem so sure of that before.”

            “I didn’t _know_ him before. Give him some time, okay? He’s a really good guy underneath the leather and creepy eyebrows.”

            Derek’s eyebrows twitched in response and his hand flew up to touch them in confusion. Scott laughed.

            The Sheriff sighed. “It’s getting late. Shouldn’t they be going home?”

            “It’s nine thirty. And spring break.”

            The Sheriff sighed again. “Fine. But they go home at 11.”

 

            The Sheriff was sleep on the couch by 10:30 and Stiles left the table to get a blanket. He laid it over him and came back into the kitchen.

            “He’s out cold. You guys can stay as late as you want, as long as we’re remotely quiet.”

*           *           *

            Derek knew that this project was dangerous and that Stiles was clumsy. He _knew_ something was bound to happen sometime.

            So he wasn’t surprised when they were building walls and putting in windows when there was a crunch Stiles let out a pained squawk followed by “Shitshitshit ow!”

            Derek was by his side at once, grabbing the hand he was cradling to his chest.

            “ _Ow,_ Derek!”

            “Let me see.”

            “No, it hurts to be touched, shit, ow, it’s definitely broken, oh God.”

            Derek sighed. “Stop being a baby, let me see it.”

            Stiles jerked back like he’d been slapped. “I’m sorry I don’t have super werewolf strength or healing abilities—”

            Derek shut him up by grabbing his good hand, twining their fingers together and leeching the pain away. Stiles watched in wonder as Derek’s veins turned black.

            “Oh, wow,” He breathed. “Oh, cool, thanks, man.”

            “It’s not broken,” Derek said quietly. “I know what a broken bone feels like. I think you might have just bruised the bone. You’ll be fine, it’ll just hurt for a while.”

            Stiles nodded. “Is it worth seeing a doctor over?”

            “I don’t know. I don’t _think_ so, but you could ask Melissa for a second opinion.”

            “Okay. Thanks.” Stiles smiled a little at Derek and that was when Derek realized their fingers were still laced together. He yanked his back like Stiles had burned him and nodded.

            “Yeah.”

            “I’m ... gonna just watch for a little while,” He said.

            “Okay.”

            “So cute,” Erica said lowly in Derek’s ear as he got back to work. “You guys are so sweet it’s sickening.”

            Derek ignored her, driving a nail into the wall.

            “He’s into you, you know. And I don’t think it’s one-sided.”

            “Erica. That’s enough.”

            She laughed and he glared.

            “It’s okay, you know. To have emotions,” She was quiet.

            Derek didn’t respond. He didn’t feel like it was necessary. It was none of her business. He knew it was okay to have feelings, he just didn’t like to talk about them.

*           *           *

            The house was coming along nicely. It looked almost livable, with walls and floors that _wouldn’t_ give anyone—Stiles—splinters.

            Stiles had managed to hide his extremely bruised finger from his dad. He said he kept his hands in his pockets whenever he was near him and hoped for the best.

            They all thought it worked.

            Derek was filling the Camaro with gas when the Sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the slot next to his. _Oh no._

“Derek Hale,” He said, starting to pump his own gas.

            “Hello, Sir.”

            “Do you want to explain to me why Stiles has been hiding his hands from me for the last three days?”

            “I don’t know, Sir.”

            “You can stop calling me that.”

            “Okay.”

            “Stiles believes you’re a good man. I’m not so convinced.”        

            “Stiles sees the best in everyone.”

            “That is very true. He thinks you’re good, though, Derek. He doesn’t think you have good _traits_ , he thinks _you_ are _good._ All I ask is that you don’t prove him wrong.”

            “Of course not, Sir—Sheriff.”

            “Now tell me, why are you hanging out with a bunch of messed up teenagers?”       

            “What?”

            “Oh, come on, Derek. You know about Stiles’ mom, and Scott’s dad is out of the picture, and poor Isaac—”

            “I’m not around them because they’re messed up. They—Stiles, Scott, and Isaac are not messed up. They’re just really great people and that’s what I need right now.”

            “You need a bunch of teenage boys.”

            Derek sighed. “I need positivity.”

            “Stiles... Stiles has gone through a lot, okay Derek. I just—keep that in mind.”

            “I know.”

            “And if anything happens to him,” The Sheriff’s hand casually moved to rest on the gun strapped to his hip, “I’ll know exactly who to blame.”

            “I’d never hurt him.”

            His tank was full, so he paid for his gas and nodded at Stiles’ dad. “It was good talking to you, Sheriff.”

*           *           *

            “I don’t know why we’re doing this.”

            “Because we need to paint,” Stiles said. “And I refuse to paint your entire house gray.”

            “I never said anything about gray.”

            “I’m not letting you paint the place  _black,_ for god’s sake, Derek.”

            “I never said anything about black either. I haven’t said anything at all.”

            “I know. That’s the problem. You didn’t tell us what you wanted. So we’re here together.”

            Stiles, Derek, and Lydia were out at Home Depot looking at paint samples.

            “I know you prefer darker colors,” Lydia said, “but I think we should go with a nice beige color for the living room.”

            “I don’t care.”

            “However, we can incorporate your tastes into your room. How do you feel about these navy shades?”

            “I don’t really care.”

            “So I can paint your room pink?”

            “No.”

            “Then you care. Is navy and beige okay?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, for the kitchen, I think we could use a light, creamy yellow, like this one. It’s barely yellow. More like an off-white that’s tinted yellow slightly. Okay?”

            “Fine.”

            “And—”

            “Lydia, I don’t really care. As long as it isn’t overboard, you know what I don't like.”

            “How long do you think you’ll be here, Lyds?” Stiles asked.

            “I don’t know. Half an hour? Maybe a little more. I can have Jackson come pick me up if you too want to go somewhere else.”

            “Let’s go furniture shopping,” Stiles suggested, grabbing Derek’s bicep and dragging him away from Lydia.

            “Text me a picture of everything you think about getting so I can make sure it goes with the paint!”

            “Okay,” Stiles agreed, and then he was pulling extra hard at Derek’s arm.

            “Get off me.”

            “Hey. I just saved you from a long discussion of color palettes and what clashes and what doesn’t. You should be thanking me.” Stiles dropped his hand.

            “I don’t see why I have to come for these things. I think you guys can handle doing a little shopping for me.”

            “Derek, this is _your_ house. You need to feel included.”

            That’s how Derek ended up standing at the foot of a bed while Stiles sprawled out over it.

            “Ooh, memory foam. Do you like memory foam? Should we get you a memory foam mattress? Or a _water bed?_ ”

            “I don’t care.”

            “Come _on,”_ Stiles leaned forward and grabbed at Derek again, tugging him down onto the bed. Derek didn’t know why he actually _let_ Stiles move him in the first place.

            So that’s how he ended up laying on a bed beside Stiles.

            Stiles’ heart suddenly picked up the pace, and when Derek looked at him, he was blushing.

            “So? What do you think?”

            “I—”

            “If you say _I don’t care_ one more time, _I’m_ going to tear _your_ throat out with _my_ teeth.”

            “Your teeth are too blunt to do anything.”

            “Do you really want to test that theory?”

            “It isn’t a theory.”

            “Derek.”

            “It’s nice, I guess.”

            “Can you picture yourself sleeping on one of these babies every night?”

            “I guess.”

            “ _God,_ you are the worst to shop with. My mom always said it’s my dad, but you’re _worse_ than him, oh god.”

            Derek looked at Stiles in surprise. He’d started mentioning his mother more frequently. It made Derek a little nervous.

            “Yes or no to memory foam?”

            “Sure.”

            “Derek.”

            “ _Fine._ Yes.”

            Stiles grinned and bumped Derek’s shoulder with his. “Cool. Now, we need to decide what _size._ Do you want a twin, full, queen, king...?”

            Derek sighed. “I really don’t care, Stiles.”

            “Well, think about it. are you going to be the only one in this bed forever? Or are you going to have someone else in there with you? Will a bunch of kids—or puppies—be climbing in there after they have nightmares?”

            Derek tried to fight it off, but he couldn’t. Images of him and Stiles laying in bed together, little kids crawling over their laps to snuggle in between them flooded his mind, the idea of waking up surrounded in the smell of Stiles and mate.

            “A queen, I think. I think a queen will be good.”

            Stiles smiled. “Derek Hale just made a decision _without_ me suggesting and nagging for an extensive amount of time.”

            Derek rolled his eyes.

            “I’m serious. That’s improvement. I’m really proud.” Let’s go look for bed frames now.”

            Derek’s chest _did not_ feel warmer because Stiles said he was proud of him. It didn’t. No, not at all.

 


	6. Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets shot up with arrows. Which isn't as surprising as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I think I liked this chapter. Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.

Derek liked to run. It helped to clear his mind and take him away from the disaster that had been his life for such a long time.

            He followed a similar route every day. It took him around the boarders of the Hale territory so he could be extra aware of any intruders. He’d been doing this every morning since he came back to Beacon Hills.

            He was about halfway through his route when the wind blew. He took a deep breath and his steps faltered. Someone was behind him, and that didn’t make sense. They were just out of hearing range, which meant they were an innocent human who wandered too far from the trail, or—

            An arrow stuck in his right shoulder blade and he howled in pain.

            Or they knew what he was and they were being very careful.

            He sped up, trying to get away from them, but more arrows were flying.

            He ducked in time and he watched one stick into a tree. He ran harder, faster. This person had good aim, he didn’t have a prayer of fighting them off.

            He could feel arrows starting to hit him in more and more places, and he knew he was screwed and had no prayer of making it all the way home. He spun around about ninety degrees and took off, aware of the arrows stabbing into his back and ribs.

            He didn’t have time to stop and think about where to go, he just _ran._

He really shouldn’t have been surprised when he ended up at the Stilinski house. He just threw himself up the side of the house, grabbing Stiles’ window and forcing it open before falling inside. His strength evaporated and his vision turned black at the edges.

            “Holy shit! Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack? What is with you and not using doors? I mean, _honestly_ —holy shit, what happened to you?”

            “Hunter,” Derek managed. His tongue felt swollen. Words weren’t forming properly.

            “What do I do?”

            “Get them out of me.”

            “Okay, okay, I can do that, I can, okay, give me a minute.”

            He heard Stiles’ clumsy feet move out of the room and come back a moment layer. “Here, come lay on this towel. I can’t get blood all over the floor again; it’s a bitch to clean up.”

            Derek managed to tug himself forward a little, and with Stiles’ help, he made it onto the towel.

            “Okay, what do I do? Do I just grab and pull?”

            “Yes,” Derek ground out from between his teeth.

            “Here, bite down on this.” Stiles handed him a rolled up hand towel and Derek wanted to roll his eyes. He hadn’t put anything in his mouth to bite down on in times of pain for _years._

But then Stiles was gripping the arrow and that slight shift caused pain to shoot down Derek’s spine, so he shoved the towel in his mouth.

            “Okay,” Stiles said. “Should I count? Or do you want to be surprised?”

            “ _Stiles,”_ He growled around the towel.

            “Alright, alright, I’m pulling.”

            He yanked on the arrow, and it felt like Stiles had just wrenched off a hunk of Derek’s body. The pain made his eyes burn red and his teeth elongate, poking holes in the towel.

            Stiles made a gagging noise. “Oh God, I’m going to throw up, I can’t—”

            “ _Stiles.”_

“You’re bleeding black gunk, man, this is _so_ gross.” Before Derek could even open his mouth, he sighed. “I know, I know. _Stiles.”_

Derek would have grinned, but Stiles was already yanking out another arrow and Derek was slamming his teeth down on the towel.

            “Faster,” Derek ordered. “Stop hesitating.”

            Stiles made a pained noise, but grabbed another arrow and yanked. The instant Derek heard it clatter to the ground, another one was being yanked.

            Pain shot up his spine, like fire, worse than he’d ever imagined. When Stiles pulled another one out, he felt the edges of the tip grind against his ribs. And then everything went black and he was unconscious.

*           *           *

            He woke up surrounded in the scent of Stiles. He opened his eyes. He was in Stiles’ bed, wearing Stiles’ clothes. Nausea rolled through Derek’s stomach when he tried to turn his head.

            Stiles himself was sitting in his desk chair, and Derek must have made a noise, because Stiles whirled and ducked down, grabbing a bucket and  thrusting it under Derek’s chin seconds before he threw up the black blood that he associated with wolfsbane.

            When Derek stopped vomiting, he sat back and Stiles said “Good?” Derek managed to nod and Stiles left the room. A minute later the toilet flushed and the sink ran and he was back, putting the now-clean bucket on the floor again.

            “How long have I been out?”

            Stiles glanced at his computer. “I finished getting the arrows out, had you changed into clean clothes, and in bed by eight fifteen this morning. It is now six thirty. So about ten hours.”

            Derek grunted. This was bad. “How many times have I needed that?” He points at the bucket.

            “At least once an hour,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I stopped gagging after the fifth time.  But I will have you know that I threw up for a solid half hour after I scrubbed my hands clean of your blood. Oh, and once you were settled and my stomach stopped rolling, I inspected the arrows and there was a symbol on them. It was this curling V and after quite a bit of research—and with the help of Allison and the Argents—I learned about the Venators. The Venator family, to be more precise. They’re like the Argents, but not as skilled or well-known.”

            Derek was kind of impressed by how productive Stiles had been.

            “I think I need to see Deaton.”

            “Okay. Why? I figured you’d just throw up until it was all out of your system—”

            “That’s not how it works. This isn’t a stomach bug. There’s something _poisonous_ inside me. I don’t think it’s wolfsbane, either.”

            Stiles nodded, getting up and putting his phone in his pocket. “Can you walk?”

            Derek sat up slowly, feeling nausea like a bunch to the gut. He took deep, shaking breaths through his teeth. He slowly shifted, putting his feet on the ground and carefully putting weight on them.

            His head spun and the room turned black around the edges. He was afraid he was going to pass out when a slender arm wrapped around his waist, taking some of his weight until his vision cleared.

            “Okay?” Stiles asked carefully. Derek nodded.

            “Let me help you,” Stiles said. “Put your arm around my shoulders, come on.”

            He did, and Stiles reached his free hand up to wrap his fingers around Derek’s wrist.

            They wobbled out of his room together, and Derek was _very_ grateful for the support, because his knees shook with every step, and he could feel the movements tugging at the injuries on his back and side.

            The stairs took about ten minutes. Stiles would go down a step and reach up and grab under Derek’s arms and basically support the majority of his weight as he carefully maneuvered his legs down.

            “Be right back. Stay here,” he said once he got Derek situated in the car.

            Derek listened to Stiles go inside and run up the stairs. He came back a minute later with the bucket, pausing to lock the front door behind him. He climbed in the car and put the bucket in Derek’s lap. “You’re not ruining my car, thank you very much.”

            Derek didn’t respond, just braced himself as the Jeep started.

            The motion was making him feel worse. His teeth clenched and he was forcing ragged breaths through his nose, pleading his stomach to settle.

            “You’ll be okay,” Stiles said quietly. “You look like shit, but you’ll be okay.”

            Derek didn’t try to talk, didn’t want to open his mouth and risk throwing up again.

            Stiles drove with extreme caution, slowly easing around corners, avoiding any possible bumps, stopping ridiculously early for lights and stop signs. He received a few angry beeps, but he just ignored them.

            “Come on, Grandpa!” Someone yelled out their window. Stiles put his middle finger up in front of his rear-view mirror.

            They made it to Deaton’s eventually, and Stiles scrambled out of the car. “Wait for me!”

            He hurried around and opened Derek’s door, taking the empty bucket and hitching it under his arm, easing Derek out of the car.

            Derek leaned heavily on Stiles as they walked, feeling a familiar tugging sensation and smelled blood. Yeah, he definitely just reopened his wounds.

            Deaton was putting a dog back in its cage after a bath when they walked through the door. The wet dog smell was overwhelming and Derek made a retching noise. Stiles readied the bucket and Derek hunched over it, dry heaving for a few moments.

            “Deaton,” Stiles called in a panicked voice, his heart rate spiking. “Deaton, help! It’s Derek!”

            Derek straightened and felt moisture above his upper lip. He reached out to wipe at it, and when he looked at his hand, it was covered in red blood.

            Things blurred and Stiles had four eyes for a minute before there were two of him. Derek’s legs felt like Jell-O and he was startled to see the tiled floor. He realized he was collapsing too late, fumbling to catch himself, but Stiles was there first, his arms wrapping around Derek’s back, taking on his weight.

            “ _Deaton!”_

*           *           *

            Bleach and blood overwhelmed Derek’s senses. Underneath it, he could smell Stiles and Deaton, faintly, but he could _hear_ Stiles. His heart was racing and he was talking, loudly.

            “What are we supposed to _do_? I can’t let him _die.”_

“The arrow you brought me appeared to have been dipped in a concoction of some sort. I found traces of crushed mistletoe and ground-up wolfsbane. I think they mixed them and dissolved them in a liquid of some sort. They wanted Derek to die, and I think they did a fairly good job of making sure it worked out.”

            “He’s not going to die! He _can’t!_ I won’t let him.”

            “The wolfsbane should run its course and be out of his system eventually, but mistletoe is poisonous.”

            “Come _on._ You have to know how to do _something_ for him! This is what you do!”

            “I need time to think.” 

*           *           *

            When Derek woke up again, he was in his childhood bed. His mother was sitting beside him, running her fingers through his hair in the way she always did when he had a nightmare.

            “It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re going to be alright.”

            “Mom?”

            “Shh, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

            “I found my mate,” Derek said, because this was suddenly the most important thing he could ever tell her. “I found my mate. He’s a teenage boy who can’t sit still and _never_ stops talking. He knows what I am and it doesn’t bother him.”

            “That’s great, Derek, honey. I’m so happy for you.”

            “I can’t tell him, I’ll never tell him. I-that’s too much pressure to put on someone so young...”        

            “It is,” She said carefully. “It’s a lot of pressure. But how do you know it’s _too much?_ This boy... do you have feelings for him or is it just your wolf?”

            “It’s me, too. At first it was just my wolf, and I kind of hated him, but he keeps finding me, and he keeps saving me, and I can’t help it, I care about him. He’s brave and selfless and my opposite in _so_ many ways. He’s so smart.”

            “If he’s as smart as you think he is, he’ll care about you too. And if he really loves you, he’ll be willing to be your mate. It might take time; you might have to be what he needs first. You might need to be his just boyfriend for a few years. But in time, he should be ready to be what you need.”

            “I-I don’t-I can’t ask that of him, Mom, I can’t. I can’t give him the life he deserves.”

            “You’re so worried about what you think he deserves, I’ll bet you haven’t even thought about what he _wants.”_

“I’m not-I can’t be what he _wants,_ I’m not.” He was shaking emotion.

            “Shh, Derek. It’ll all be okay, you’ll see. Everything’s going to be okay.”

            But that suddenly wasn’t her voice talking, it was Stiles. “Everything will be fine, Derek, I promise. _Deaton!_ I think he’s having a seizure!”

            Derek’s eyes flew open and he yanked a breath of air into his lungs. _Stop shaking,_ he thought. _Stop shaking._

When his teeth started chattering, he realized he was freezing.

            “N-n-no seizure,” He struggled not to bite his tongue off, “c-c-cold.”

            Stiles stopped running his fingers through Derek’s hair—oh _god_ , Stiles had been _running his fingers through Derek’s hair—_ and took Derek’s hand in his, rubbing it between his. “You have a raging fever,” He explained.

            “I think you need to take him home with you, Stiles. This is no place for him.”

            Stiles grimaced. “Alright, then. Let’s go home. This’ll be fun to explain to my dad.” He carefully eased Derek to his feet. Derek was trembling and his head hurt, but the nausea had passed.

            “You don’t-you don’t have to take me to your h-h-house. D-d-drop me off at the l-l-loft,” Derek said.

            “No, no. I have to keep an eye on you, make sure your temperature doesn’t skyrocket to brain damage territory.”

            Derek was opening his mouth as Stiles settled him into the jeep, putting the bucket back in Derek’s lap.

            “I know. Werewolves naturally run a higher temperature than humans. Deaton told me what to be on the lookout for.”

            Derek nodded, his teeth chattering viciously. Stiles sighed and shrugged out of his flannel shirt, offering it to Derek. He slid it on over his Henley and Stiles reached out and turned the heat on.    

            That gesture hit Derek hard. It was spring, definitely too warm for anyone to be comfortable with the _heat_ on in their car, but Stiles was doing it because he didn’t want Derek to be cold.

            They pulled up at Stiles’ house and Stiles looked at the Sheriff’s care in the driveway and sighed. “Here goes nothing.”


	7. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is sick.

“Stiles,” The Sheriff said, his voice angry and alarmed.

            “Hey, Dad. I’ll explain in a minute, I _swear,_ I just—let me help him, okay, he needs a bed and some water and then I can explain everything.”

            “No, Stiles.” He put himself between where Derek and Stiles stood and the stairs. “You need to tell me why you’re carrying around a former murder suspect.”

            “He was innocent! You know that! Proved innocent!”

            “Stiles.”

            “Derek and I are friends, now, Dad. You know _that,_ too.”

            “I do, but _why_ are you _carrying_ him around? Stiles.”

            “He’s sick,” Stiles said, and his voice cracked. “He’s really sick and he can’t stand and he has a raging fever and he needs to lay down and be taken care of. Like _yesterday._ Please. Let me get him settled and I’ll answer any question you have, I promise.”

            “He looks like he needs to be hospitalized, Stiles—”

            “No,” Derek screeched, jerking, trying to twist in Stiles’ grip. Hospitals and doctors were bad for werewolves.

            “Shh, shh, I know, I know.” Stiles soothed. “He can’t be taken to the hospital, Dad. Th-there’s nothing they can do for him there."

            “You can do less than a _doctor.”_

“He’s dying,” Stiles said, his voice shaking, pain and heartbreak in the words.

            “Then a hospital—”

            _“They can’t help him!”_ Stiles screamed, and Derek’s ears rang. Stiles yanked in a deep breath and spoke more calmly, “No one can help him.”

            Exhaustion was overtaking Derek, and he slumped down, putting his head on Stiles shoulder.

            “Please, Dad,” He whispered. “Get out of our way.”

            Derek’s vision had gotten blurry, but he assumed the Sheriff moved because Stiles was dragging him forward.

            “Derek? I need you to walk; you’re too heavy for me. Derek?”

            The blurriness was changing into whiteness with black spots. All he could hear was roaring, like an ocean, and Stiles. He could hear every breath Stiles took, every sound he made, every heartbeat.

             “Derek!”

*           *           *

            “I am done with the lies! I need you to tell me the truth, Stiles. All of it.”

            “I—” Derek could hear Stiles swallow nervously. “I can’t.”

            “If you don’t give me the entire truth right now, then I’m going to call the police and have Derek arrested.”

            “For what?!”

            “A former murder suspect is asleep in my underage son’s bed.”

            “Dad, please.”

            “Now, Stiles.”

            “Can you give me three seconds to check and make sure Derek’s okay with me telling you? Because it’s his secret, not mine.”

            “If he’s dying, he won’t care.”

            “That is hitting below the belt and you know it.” There’s something hard and icy in Stiles’ voice that makes Derek nervous. “How would you like it if I threw Mom in your face all the time?”

            “That is not the same thing.”

            “You cared about her. I care about him. Using his sickness against me is cruel.”

            “I was in love with your mother—”

            “That doesn’t mean it hurts any less. I _care_ about Derek and I don’t want him to die.”

            “Why is he dying?”

            Stiles sighed. “He’s a werewolf. And so are Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Jackson. But Jackson was a giant lizard first. And Allison and her family are hunters, but there’s a code to keep them from killing innocent werewolves. New hunters came to town and shot Derek up with a bunch of arrows that were dipped in something poisonous to him and now he’s sick and dying.”

            There was a really long pause and then the Sheriff sighed. “You want me to believe _werewolves_ exist?”

            “You think I’m lying? Jesus Christ, Dad, I’ve been lying to your face for months and you’ve only bought half of it, but now that I’m telling you the truth—”

            “I think I need to call Doctor Hansberry—”

            “I don’t _need_ therapy, Dad! I’m not crazy!”

            “Werewolves, Stiles. You’re trying to tell me a boy I’ve known since he was born is a _werewolf._ You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”

            Stiles made a noise. “I think I can expect my father to listen to me.”

            “After your mom, you imagined a lot of things, Stiles. You created whole other universes that you thought were real. I thought you got better, but—”

            “I’m not imagining this!”

            “It’s okay. Everyone deals with grief differently—”

            “This is real, Dad. I’m not making this up!”

            “Werewolves.”

            _“I’m not crazy!”_ Stiles sounded so utterly heartbroken that it felt like a stab to Derek’s chest. He turned his head and saw the house phone sitting on the table beside him. He stretched over and grabbed it.

            Crossing his fingers, he pressed redial and prayed that the last person the Sheriff called was Stiles.

            He heard a phone ring downstairs and exhaled with relief.

            “Don’t you dare answer that,” The Sheriff warned. “We're talking.”

            “Dad... Dad,” He repeated himself, more insistent when the sheriff tried to interrupt. “I . . . the house is calling. It’s Derek. It has to be Derek.”

            “Stiles...”

            “Hello?” His voice was suddenly on the phone, much closer and Derek almost jumped in surprise, kicking himself for it.

            “Stiles.” He kept his tone neutral.

            “Coming,” He hung up and Derek heard him start running up the stairs.

            “Hey,” He said, appearing in the doorway. “How are you feeling?”

            Derek shrugged. “A little hot,” he admitted.

            “It’s the fever,” Stiles said, moving toward him and pressing the back of his hand against Derek’s forehead. He grabbed a thermometer off the bedside table and handed it to Derek. “Here, let me see.”

            After it beeped, Stiles took it out of his mouth and sighed. “One ten,” He murmured, coming his fingers through Derek’s sweat-dampened hair. “If you were human, this would be so bad.”

            Derek nodded slowly. It wasn’t _good,_ werewolf or not, but it wasn’t as deadly as it would be for a human. Yet.

            The Sheriff came to stand in the threshold and Derek met his gaze. “Stiles told you the truth. I’m a werewolf.”

            He rolled his eyes.

            Derek reached a hand out and let the change take over a little, let his teeth and nails elongate. “I’m serious.”

            His eyes bulged and Stiles smirked. “I told you so.

            Derek bit back a gasp when Stiles took his changed hand in his. He traced his fingertips along Derek’s nails lightly and he held back a shutter. His claws could kill Stiles effortlessly and his heartbeat was even and he was calm.

            “Get away from it, Stiles.” The Sheriff’s hand was reaching for his hip automatically, despite the fact he wasn’t in uniform and didn’t have a gun on him.

            “ _It_ is still Derek,” Stiles snapped firmly and Derek quickly changed back.

            “Get the hell out of my house,” He said, his voice shaking.

            Derek began attempting to sit up. The motion made nausea roll through his stomach and he ripped his hand from Stiles' to press it over his mouth.

            “Shit!” Stiles dove and grabbed a bucket, pushing it under Derek’s chin seconds before he couldn’t hold it in anymore and he began vomiting.

            It was odd, he thought, because he hadn’t eaten for a long time—possibly over twenty four hours now. What was there left in him to throw up?

            His stomach rolled when he realized that the basin was full of red blood, not the thick black blood.

            Stiles made a revolted noise and grabbed a tissue from the side of the bed, wiping Derek’s chin with it. “Okay?”

            Derek managed a nod. The motion had pulled unpleasantly at the wounds on his back, and he knew they were most likely reopened again. He was shaking and sweating and he could _feel_ his strength leaving him. This was it. He was really dying.

            Stiles turned to his dad. “Do you want to go flush this and rinse it, or can I trust you alone with him for a minute?”

            “You’re worried about what _I’m_ going to do to _him?”_

“Look at him! Do you honestly think he could hurt you right now?

            Derek wanted a mirror. He can’t even imagine how bad he must look, because the Sheriff sighed and went “Go ahead.”

            The instant Stiles was down the hall, he was spinning on Derek. “If anything happens to him—”

            “I would never let Stiles get hurt,” Derek said firmly. “As long as I’m alive, I will do everything in my power to keep him safe. I’ll die trying if I have to.”

            His eyebrows lurched up. “That’s quite the promise.”

            “He’s pack. An alpha protects its pack.”

            The Sheriff’s face went pale and he went “Is he—?”

            “He’s human, if that’s what you’re asking. Humans can be pack.”

            “Are you going to change him?”

            “Only if he’s dying,” Derek said firmly. “The bite can kill someone if their body rejects it. I would never take that kind of chance with him.”

            “You’d better not, because if he _dies—”_

“Oh, knock it off,” Stiles said, coming back in and putting the clean bucket on the floor. “Interrogating the ill? That’s cruel.”

            Derek frowned. He hadn’t heard the toilet flush, or the skin run. He strained his hearing and realized, with horror, that he could only hear two heartbeats—Stiles and his own.

            “Stiles,” He panted, eyes widening in horror. “Stiles, I’m losing my hearing.”

            “What?” Stiles stumbled toward him, pressing his hand against Derek’s cheek. Derek couldn’t keep from leaning into the touch.

            “Your fever isn’t at the brain damage level for werewolves yet! You can’t, what, that, that doesn’t make sense.”

            “Stiles, I can’t even hear your dad’s heart.”

            Stiles grimaced and his phone started ringing. He glanced at it.

            “Deaton!” He screeched, pressing answer. “Deaton, please tell me you’ve got something. Derek’s losing his hearing.”

            Derek couldn’t hear Deaton’s response and he felt fragile. He inhaled deeply and caught the scent of his own blood and Stiles. That was it. He couldn’t smell the Sheriff.

            “And smell,” Derek croaked. “I can’t catch scents as well as before.”

            Stiles moaned. “We’ll try it. We have to _try_ at least. His fever is steadily increasing and he’s losing his extra senses. Okay. We’ll be there in ten minutes or so, depending on how long it takes for me to get him in the car without having him throw up blood on me. Okay. Bye.” Stiles hung up and reached out, running his fingers through Derek’s hair again.

            “Deaton has something?”

            “He’s got an idea. It might not work. It’s dangerous and probably painful.”

            “I don’t care. Tell me. Anything.”

            “We have to suck the blood out of your body before the mistletoe goes through your bloodstream to your heart. If it gets to your heart, you’re dead. We’re going to give you transfusions—the whole pack.”

            Derek nodded, “Sounds decent to me.”

            Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders and eased him up into a sitting position. “Breathe, careful, easy,” Stiles rubbed his shoulders and Derek realized in horror that he couldn’t feel his wolf. His wolf should be _purring_ at this contact with his mate, but Derek couldn’t feel him. There was a sickening emptiness inside Derek that made his head pound.

            “Come on,” Stiles said. “Easy.”

            They get up and slowly make their way downstairs, pausing once on the steps for Derek to throw up. Stiles had wrapped his arms around Derek and held on tight, making sure he didn’t fall down the stairs while the Sheriff held the bucket and looked sick himself.

            “Sorry,” Derek said afterwards, once he and Stiles were down the stairs and the Sheriff was shoving the now-clean bucket at Stiles.

            “You _honestly_ cannot be apologizing for being _sick,_ Derek,” Stiles said, giving him a look.

            Derek would have shrugged, but he was alarmed to find that he didn’t have the strength.

            His knees buckled and Stiles gasped and grabbed at him, clutching his lip body against his chest. “ _Oof._ Dude, what are you, two hundred pounds of muscle and eyebrows? Dad, _help.”_

The Sheriff and Stiles basically carried him to the car. His skin was hot and sticky and he knew he must have reeked of sweat and blood but he _couldn’t smell it,_ and he got in the Jeep and they closed the door and Stiles started the car and he _couldn’t hear it_ and he couldn’t hear Stiles’ heart, which was probably racing.

            He felt vulnerable. If anyone tried to kill him now, he wouldn’t be able to put up a fight. The realization made his chest tighten and his throat close up. Yanking in shallow breaths, Derek reached out with trebling hands to grab at Stiles, to press his fingers against his wrist so he could feel his pulse. It calmed him, steadied him, and he focused on trying to breathe when he saw Stiles’ chest rise, trying to force his heart to beat in time with Stiles’.

            “It’ll be okay,” Stiles whispered. “I promise, we’ll keep you alive. _I’ll_ keep you alive. You’re not getting away from me this easily, my friend.”

            The rest of what Stiles said was drowned out by the roaring ocean in his head. His vision went black around the edges and he let his head slump back against the seat as we went unconscious.

            


	8. Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has had enough of the Sheriff's drinking. Stiles and Derek have a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I'm so sorry this took so long. School started and my sister and her 4 kids all moved in with me so things have been hectic and I haven't had any opportunities to really write without having someone reading over my shoulder.  
> I also kind of put a parallel in here for Currents, when the Boyd thing happened and Stiles put his hand on Derek's shoulder.

When Derek woke up, he felt lightheaded. That was the first thing he noticed. Then he realized that he wasn’t freezing, or sweating, and he didn’t feel like throwing up.

            He could hear multiple heartbeats nearby, but the one that mattered was a steady heartbeat beside him and he turned his head. Stiles was lumped in a plastic chair, his eyes shut and his breathing even. He was clearly asleep, his fingers twined with Derek’s. Beside him was a bag half-filled with black and red blood, a little tube leading from the bag to the crease of Derek’s elbow. In Stiles’ free hand sat a can of Coke with a straw in it.

            His hand had been limp in Stiles, so he shifted and curled his own fingers around Stiles, squeezing softly.

            Stiles jerked awake, practically falling out of the chair. “Derek,” He breathed. “You’re awake.”

            Derek nodded.

            “How do you feel?”

            “Better,” Derek said.

            The smile that took over Stiles’ face made his heart flip over and his wolf purr in delight. He could feel his wolf again.

            Stiles didn’t look so great, though. He looked a shade paler than he had before Derek passed out. There were dark crescents under his eyes and his hair was a mess.

            “Are _you_ okay?”

            “Yeah,” Stiles promised, smiling weakly. “I’m fine. I’m just a little tired, is all.”

            “What time is it?”

            Stiles put his soda between his knees and dug his phone out of his pocket. “Five thirty nine,” He said, and then pressed his lips in a firm line, “In the afternoon.”

            Derek stared at him in confusion. “I—”

            “You fell through my window at eight am _yesterday,_ Derek.”

            That was alarming. He’d been in and out of consciousness a lot since he got shot, but he hadn’t realized how much time had gone by.

            He turned his head and saw Erica sitting on his other side, toying with her cell phone. There was a tube connecting the crease of her elbow to a large blood bag, and another tube was coming from the bag to Derek’s arm—transfusions.

            “Hey, sleepyhead,” She smirked.

            He gave her a weak smile right before the door opened and Deaton burst in.

            “His blood is showing fewer and fewer traces of the mistletoe,” He announced.

            “Thank God,” Stiles exhaled and his fingers tightened on Derek’s.

            Deaton smiled briefly. “You got him here just in time,” He said, moving to change the bag of Derek’s poisoned blood.

            Somehow, despite the fact that he’d been sleeping on and off for over twenty four hours, he was exhausted. His eyelids were heavy and drooping.

            “Sleep,” Stiles encouraged, his thumb rubbing the back of Derek’s hand. “Sleep and heal. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

*           *           *

            When Derek woke up again, Stiles was awake but staring blankly ahead. His grip on Derek’s hand is a little too tight, palm sweaty, and his heart was racing.

            “Stiles?”

            He blinked twice, hard, and took a shaky breath. “Derek, hey. You’re up. How do you feel?”

            Stiles was the only one in the room. He could hear someone pacing in the room next door—Isaac? It sounded like Isaac—and someone snoring—Scott?—and a whispered conversation between Erica and Boyd that he didn’t want to listen in on.

            He could smell Stiles beside him, and the full can of soda in his hand. His senses were back.

            He wasn’t hot or cold, and he wasn’t nauseous in the slightest. In fact, he was hungry. He moved carefully, stretching slowly, and exhaling in relief when there wasn’t any sharp pain or tearing from his back.

            “Normal,” Derek said quietly. “I feel like myself again.”

            Stiles let out a breath and smiled. “It worked, then. Good. The pack’s in the other room, waiting for updates.”

            “I know. I can hear them.”

            “Oh. They would be in here with you, but your scent was driving them a little crazy. Apparently, it’s confusing when your alpha has all your fellow betas blood running through his veins.”

            Derek took a deep breath and understood what they meant. He smelled like Stiles, overwhelmingly so, and Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, and even Scott. He also smelled disgusting, like blood, sweat, and vomit. He needed a shower.

            “I smell like you,” Derek said quietly. “A lot.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles shrugged. “I mean, I’ve been with you for, like, thirty six hours straight. You’ve been wearing my clothes and sleeping in my bed. And my blood is running through your veins. Of _course_ you smell like me.”

            Derek’s wolf was overjoyed. Derek _should_ smell like Stiles. That was how things were _supposed_ to be.

            “Derek,” Deaton said, coming in the room. “There is no trace of wolfsbane or mistletoe left in your blood. It appears to have worked. How do you feel?”

            “Fine.”

            “You’re free to leave now, but I ask that you remain under someone’s care for the next twenty four hours in case any symptoms return.”

            “That’s unnecessary, I’ll be fine on my own—”   

            “I got you,” Stiles interrupted him easily. “My dad already knows everything anyway.”

            “That’s not—”

            “Do you feel up to leaving right now?” Stiles asked, ignoring him again. “Because I’m wiped. I haven’t really slept in almost two days.”

            “I can go back to my loft, I feel fine—”

            “Oh, shut up. If you think I went through all this just to let you start vomiting blood again tonight without anyone knowing and die, you’re dead wrong. Let’s go.”

            Derek felt completely back to normal, so he got to his feet without any hesitation or nausea.

            “Thank you,” He said to Deaton. “I haven’t given you any reason to save my life, but you keep doing it anyway. I really appreciate it.”

            Deaton smiled. “Have a good night. Get some sleep. And have someone else drive you two home. Stiles is in no condition to drive.”

            Derek turned to Stiles and caught his face morphed into an expression he’d never seen before. His lips were parted slightly and he gazed at Derek with an odd sort of fondness in his eyes. It made something in Derek’s stomach flip over.

            Boyd drove them home. Derek asked him because he knew he would ask less questions.

            “You good?” Boyd asked once they were settled and driving.

            “Yeah,” Derek said quietly.

            Boyd just nodded once and dropped it.

            Stiles fell asleep the instant the car started moving. He had sat in the back with Derek. Derek didn’t know why.

            So Stiles' head ended up pillowed on Derek’s shoulder as he breathed heavily through his open mouth. After everything Stiles had done for him over the last two days or so, Derek couldn’t bring himself to push his head away.

            At least, that’s what Derek was telling himself as he tried to ignore his purring wolf at the contact with his mate.

            When they pulled up, Derek quietly thanked Boyd and they eased Stiles out of the car, trying not to wake him.

            It’s a wasted effort, though, because as he tried to unlock the door with the boy in his arms, Stiles jerked awake, limbs flailing, an alarmed squawk escaping his throat.

            “Shh,” Derek hushed. “You’re home.”

            Stiles relaxed. “Put me down. I can walk.”

            Derek placed him on his feet, but kept an arm around his waist. Stiles leaned into his side and Derek’s heart did an uncomfortable lurching thing.

            The Sheriff was sitting in the kitchen when they went in. There was a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table, his hand curled around an empty cup.

            He lurched to his feet as they went by. “What happened to him?” He tried to sound angry, but his words were slurred and it came out as more of a “wah happen ta mm?”

            Stiles had gone pale and he was glaring at his dad with narrowed eyes.

            “He’s okay,” Derek promised. “He’s just tired.”

            Stiles yanked himself out of Derek’s grip suddenly, storming past his father and into the kitchen.

            “I’m so _sick_ of this,” He roared before turning the bottle upside down in the sink.

            “Stiles!” The Sheriff snapped, but Stiles was fuming.

            “ _No!_ No, you don’t get to do this! You don’t get to destroy yourself because you’ve been through hard times. I lost her too, you know!” Tears welled in Stiles’ eyes and he turned away, wrapping his hands around the counter and leaning heavily onto it. “ _I lost her too,”_ He whispered.

            Something in the Sheriff seemed to give out at the words and he slumped, leaning against the wall.

            Derek felt awkward and out of place. This was a family matter and he was intruding. He looked at Stiles,at how his whole frame was shaking. He walked forward, past the Sheriff, and over to Stiles. He reached out and hesitantly rested his hand on his shoulder. Stiles tensed under his hand, not having heard him come closer, and then relaxed.

            Derek rubbed his thumb into Stiles’ shoulder blade gently. “Come on,” He said quietly. “You need to get some sleep. I’ll take the couch tonight.”

            “No,” Stiles said, and his voice was thick and hoarse. It made Derek’s chest hurt. _You’ve made him sound like that before too,_ he reminded himself. _You've hurt him too._ “My bed is big enough for the both of us. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, remember?”

            Stiles turned away, grabbing Derek’s hand as it fell away. He twined their fingers together and shot a dirty look at his father. “If you’re too hung-over to go to work tomorrow, that’s your own fault. Drink water and try not to fall down the stairs.”

            The words sounded practiced, like Stiles had said them before. He probably had.

            “By the way,” Stiles said, and there was so much anger and acid in his voice that Derek almost flinched. “I’m reporting your alcoholic tendencies tomorrow. You won’t be allowed to work and you’ll be forced into an alcoholics anonymous program.”

            “Stiles—”

            “Just stop,” Stiles snapped. “Your wife died. I get that. But my mother died and my best friend got turned into a werewolf and I was thrown into this gigantic shitfest with nonstop trouble and life-threatening drama and I do not have the time or patience to deal with an alcoholic father. I really don’t.”

            Stiles pulled at Derek’s hand again and they began up the stairs. Derek glanced over his shoulder at the Sheriff. Not only did he look entirely sober now, but he looked as if he had aged twenty years.

            “Are you okay?” Derek asked once Stiles had slammed his bedroom door shut.

            “Fine,” Stiles said, dropping his hand ro dig through drawers.

            He pulled out two pairs of pajama pants and tossed them toward the bed. He slammed the drawer shut. “Ow, fuck!” He said, having caught his finger. “Fuck, fucking, fucker, fuck,” he began punching wildly at the wood and Derek threw himself forward, catching Stiles’ fists in his hands before he could hurt himself.

            Stiles started to punch at Derek’s chest instead and Derek let him, keeping his hands wrapped loosely around the boy’s wrists. Eventually Stiles calmed down, his breathing evening out and his hands flattening and resting against Derek’s chest.

            Stiles met his gaze slowly. “Sorry,” He whispered.

            Derek shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re sleep deprived and this isn’t an easy situation. It’s okay.”

            Stiles shook his head, frustrated. “It’s not... I don’t... I lost it.”

            “That’s okay,” Derek said quietly. “It’s okay to be angry.”

            “Not me, I don’t get like this... I’m strong,” Stiles said and his voice broke. “I used to be strong.”

            Derek sighed. “Stiles, you’re the strongest person I know.”

            Tears were running down Stiles’ cheeks now and when he snorted at Derek, it was a wet sound. “That’s a lie. We know like eight werewolves.”

            Derek took his chin in his hand and tipped his face up so their gazes could lock. “You are stronger than you realize. Everything you’ve been through... All the supernatural beings you’ve fought... I don’t think anyone else in the pack could have done it if they were human. You’re the strongest.”

            Stiles grabbed Derek suddenly, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Derek slowly wrapped his arms around his trembling mate.

            “You’re just a big teddy bear, aren’t you?” Stiles sniffled.

            Derek laughed. “I think you need some sleep.”

            Stiles pulled back and offered him a weak smile. “Thanks. For saying that. And being here. For me.”

            Derek’s lips twitched up into a half smile. “Thank _you_ for saving my life.”

            Stiles grinned. “That’s what we do. It’s kind of our thing, isn’t it?”

            Derek was kind of appeased by the idea of having a _thing_ with Stiles. So he let himself give the boy a real smile. “Yeah, it is.”

            


	9. Girlfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is mad at Derek. Things start to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little reference to season 3 is in here. See if you can find it. Oh, and to KekeMcFreckles, your jealous!Derek is being introduced.

When Derek woke up, he was curled around Stiles. He shifted, pressed closer, nuzzling his face into his mate’s neck, breathing in their mingled scents. For a moment, everything was perfect.

            And then he remembered everything—who he was, who Stiles was, everything. He carefully removed his arm from Stiles’ grip, pulling their bodies apart slowly.

            Stiles spun and caught his hand. “Really?” He mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “I save your life and you just _leave._ Without even saying goodbye?”

            Derek stiffened. “I—”

            “Stay?”

            Derek sighed. He wanted to stay, oh, did he want to stay, but he _shouldn’t_ stay. What had happened to his surefire plan to get Stiles _away_ from him? He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shoved his whimpering wolf down deep.

            “I can’t.”

            Stiles dropped his hand like it’d burned him. Derek fought against the pain that wanted to lance through his chest. _You don’t get to be hurt,_ he thinks to himself. _You’re doing this on purpose._

Stiles didn’t respond as Derek climbed off the bed and opened the window. He had to say something, though. He owed Stiles that much. “Thanks for the past few days.”

            “Whatever.”

            He closed his eyes for a brief second before throwing himself out the window.

            Pain shot through his ankles when he landed wrong but he ignored it, sprinting off before he could recover.

*           *           *

            Derek had done a lot of things in his life that he felt guilty about. He was the reason his entire family had died, after all.

            But there was something particularly sour about how he felt for what he did to Stiles. Maybe it was because he hadn’t made a conscious _choice_ for his family to die. He did choose to put Stiles through all this.

            He’d been a jerk to Stiles, but he saved Derek anyway. He took care of him for almost two days straight and this was how Derek repaid him. He was an asshole.

 

            The rest of the pack’s spring break passed without event. The pack helped Derek finish the house. Allison told her dad about the hunters that had attacked Derek. They tried to track them down, but the hunter had disappeared into thin air, apparently.

            Stiles wasn’t speaking to Derek.

            He didn’t come to the house when they worked. He didn’t show up to the weekly meetings or training sessions. He kept his window shut and locked. Derek should be pleased. His plan had worked. But he just felt cold and empty.

*        *        *

            Two weeks after school had started, Derek got the phone call.

            Erica was hysterical. The hunters had returned. Boyd was pretty torn up, but Scott was hurt too. She was rushing to Deaton with Jackson and Isaac to begin blood transfusions.

            “You need to go get Stiles from school,” She said frantically. “The hunters are posing as students. He has no idea.”

            “Just text him,” Derek massaged his temples. “He has a car. He can leave on his own.”

            “It’s in the shop! Please, Derek. They’re worse than the Argents. They kill werewolf _sympathizers_ too.”

            Well, shit. If anyone was a werewolf ‘sympathizer’ it was Stiles.

            “I’m on my way.”

            If Derek’s stomach flipped over at the idea of being near Stiles again, that wasn’t anyone else’s business.

*           *           *

            Stiles slid into the passenger’s seat of Derek’s car and Derek was hit with his scent so powerfully that a whimper escaped his throat. He’d been forcing himself not to miss Stiles, but his wolf wasn’t. It howled and pawed at his chest. _Mate._

Then his stomach dropped to the soles of his feet. _No._ There was another scent clinging to Stiles. It wasn’t pack and it was far too strong to be a mere friend.

            Derek leaned forward, toward him, and took a deep breath. It was an unfamiliar scent, but definitely feminine. It smelled fruity and flowery and human.

            “What the hell?” Stiles flinched away from him, into the door. “What is with werewolves and sniffing me? It’s getting creepy.”

            “You have a girlfriend.”

            Pink spread across Stiles’ cheeks and Derek’s heart squeezed uncomfortably.

            “Yeah,” He smiled a little, so fond and goofy that Derek’s chest ached. “Her name's Meredith." His voice hardened. "You’d know that if you weren’t such an asshole.”

            “I deserve that.”

            “No, you deserve way worse. What the hell, man? You fall into my window, bloody and dying. I save your life and you sneak out like I was some cheap one-night stand? Do you know the hell that I made my life turn into for you? My dad won’t even look at me anymore.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “And then you just show up at my school and send me this freaky _‘come outside’_ text that I would have loved to reply ‘ _fuck you’_ to, but Isaac texted me a split second before asking me very nicely to do what you say. So I do, but only because Isaac asked and he doesn’t ask for much. And then you start _smelling me.”_

Derek ran his tongue over his teeth. “Did anyone leave school early other than the pack?”

            “Not that I know of,” He said. “Although getting out without a note was a bitch. I had to pretend I threw up. Then they wanted to call my dad. It was a lot of work. Why? What's going on?”

            “The hunters are pretending to be students at your school. They shot Boyd and Scott.”

            The way Stiles’ limbs flailed out suddenly at the news was kind of cute. Not that Derek would ever admit that to anyone.

            “ _Scott_ and Boyd? Are they okay?”

            “Erica,  Jackson and Isaac are on their way with them to Deaton. They’re going to do blood transfusions. Boyd got the worst of it.”

            “Shit,” Stiles said, and he grabbed at the handle of the car door. “Meredith.”

            “Stiles, no.” Derek reached out to grab his shoulder, stop him. “You can’t go back in after you just left sick. She’ll be fine. She’s human, right?”

            “If they don’t want to hurt humans, why’d you come get me?” His voice was a challenge and Derek realized that he’d missed this too, their fighting.

            Derek met his gaze. “You’re what they consider to be a werewolf sympathizer. They kill those too.”

            “Then they’ll kill Meredith. She’s friends with them, too.”

            “It’s different. You and Scott are practically brothers. You smell like him. Normal friends don’t really smell like one another.”

            “She smells like _me!_ If I smell like Scott, she does too!”

            Derek ground his teeth together. He wanted to say that they wouldn’t hurt someone who didn’t know, but he didn’t know anything about these hunters.

            “You stay here,” Derek said firmly. “I go get your girlfriend. You stay here with the doors locked in the driver’s seat. If anyone comes toward you that isn’t me, you hit the gas and you get the hell out of here. Do you understand me?”

            Stiles shook his head. “No way. I come with you.”

            “No, you don’t. If this turns into a bloodbath, we’re not making it out of there alive. I’m not letting that happen to you.”

            Stiles blinked. “Why do you even care what happens to me?”

            Derek narrowed his eyes and leaned toward him. “You’re not allowed to pull this _I’m an invaluable human_ shit. You matter. Besides, the pack would be more upset over your death than they would mine. Just think that I’m doing this for them, okay?”

            “You have ten minutes and then I’m coming in,” Stiles said firmly. “She’s in room 116. Get in, get her, get out. 10 minutes. Starting the instant you’re through the doors.”

            “What makes you think you can control me? Why do you think I’ll do what you say?”

            “Because I mean something to you,” Stiles said and there was a sense of knowledge to his tone that made Derek uneasy. “I don’t know what. I don’t know why. But I’m something to you, and you don’t want me hurt or dead. I think you’ll be willing to go pretty far to keep me alive. Do you want me to test it?”    

            Derek’s only response was to open his car door and slide out. “You sit in the driver’s seat. If anyone comes toward the car, ten minutes be damned, you go. If they’re following you, I can run and carry her and get us out of there alive.”

            Stiles took a deep breath and climbed over the gear shift into the driver’s seat. He gave Derek a once-over and nodded. “Be careful. And quick.”

            Derek nodded once too. “Same to you.”

*           *           *

            Derek found himself grateful that he’d gone to Beacon Hills High too. He found the room Meredith was in rather quickly. The security here sucked, so he’d breezed right through the doors without any questions asked.

            The problem was identifying which one was Meredith. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he wiggled it out.

**Stiles: You have six minutes left.**

Attached was a picture of him and a girl. She was pretty, blonde hair falling in loose ringlets around her shoulders, eyes big, blue and warm. Freckles dotted across her cheekbones and nose. Meredith.

            He knocked on the classroom door. The teacher was female, probably in her early thirties with jet black hair pulled tight into a high ponytail.

            She opened the door slightly and stood, blocking the entrance with her body. “Derek Hale,” She said. “What can I do for you?”

            “How do you know my name?” He deliberately lowered his voice, trying to make it gravelly in that way he knew many women were attracted to. He made sure he didn’t sound angry or aggressive.

            “Your face was on Wanted posters for quite a while.”

            Shit. “Falsely accused,’’ He said quickly, “Exonerated on all charges.”

            “Congratulations.”

            “I’m here for a Meredith? She’s in this class, right?”

            She narrowed her eyes. “That depends, who’s asking?”

            He deliberately raised his volume. “Her boyfriend, Stiles, is asking for her.”

            He heard a heartbeat spike in the room and a chair shoved back from a desk.

            “Sit down!” The teacher snapped.

            “What did you do to Stiles?” The girl demanded, hands on hips, appearing behind the teacher.

            “I would never hurt Stiles. We’re friends. Practically family. He asked me to deliver a message to you. Privately.”

            “Absolutely not,” The teacher said.

            “Okay,” Meredith agreed. “We can stand right outside the door.”

            She made a face but stepped back. “You stay within my sight.”

            The teacher went back into the classroom and Meredith came out, shutting the door behind her. The teacher kept her gaze on them through the rectangular window.

            “What did you do to him?” She growled the words and Derek decided that he was glad Stiles was dating a girl who was protective of him.

            “Nothing." Derek quickly fabricated a story that didn't involve exposing anything. "There are bad people in this school, people who want to hurt Stiles. He’s afraid they’re going to hurt you to get to him. So he’s waiting in my car while I come get you.”

            Her gaze ran over Derek’s face repeatedly, trying to judge whether or not he was lying.

            Derek grimaced. “He told me I had ten minutes to get you and get back outside before he came in looking for me. Proof,” He held his phone out, text still open.

            Her eyes narrowed. “Okay.” She said. “Let me get my bag.”

            “There isn’t _time_ for that. Our lives are in danger every second we are in this building. That teacher is not going to let you out if you go back in. We need to leave. Now. You can come get your stuff once I take care of these bad guys.”

            “Oh yeah? What makes you think you can _take care_ of them?”

            “Jesus. You are the female Stiles. Of course. Our lives are in _danger._ Let’s go.”

            He heard footsteps approaching and whipped his head around. “We need to go _right now.”_

But it was too late. “I don’t think so,” A voice said, and then a girl stepped into his view.

            Her hair was a fiery shade of red, her eyes bright green and noticeable even from a distance. She was wearing skin-tight jeans and a low cut v-neck black t-shirt and bright red lipstick. She held a gun in her hand.

            Her gaze flickered between Meredith and Derek. “This’ll be fun.”


	10. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing like a crazy person tonight. Sorry if I rushed Miles a little bit (I made up a ship name for Meredith and Stiles) because I wasn't exactly sure how to make her react to the werewolf nonsense. Not everyone can take it in stride like Stiles, or get mad and go into denial like the Sheriff. She's probably going to make several more appearances, though.

“How interesting,” She said, flashing white teeth in a grin as Derek stepped in front of Meredith. “You’re volunteering to die for her.”

            Derek nodded once sharply.

            “You don’t even _know_ me!” Meredith said, and there was a hysterical edge to her voice.

            “That doesn’t matter to him, you see. The Stilinski boy cares about you. And Derek here would die to make sure Stiles never loses anyone he loves, wouldn’t you?” She turned her piercing gaze to him.

            “What do you want?” He demanded. “You come to _my_ territory, you attack _me_ and _my pack._ What, exactly, is your goal?”

            Her scarlet lips twisted up into a smile. “I want to put your kind where it belongs.”

            “We aren’t hurting anyone.”

            “Your existence alone pains me.”

            “I’ll take that pain away for you,” Derek said, and, giving up all pretenses he’d held up for Meredith’s sake, held up his hand and let his claws come out. She made a strangled noise. He hoped she didn't pass out.

            “Oh, _please._ Werewolves are all the same. You think you’re so original and sassy, whipping the claws out when you’re upset, pretending to be nonchalant. That girl of yours likes to _file_ them. It’s pathetic. Once one has dealt with as many of your kind as I have, the claws aren’t threatening anymore.”

            Derek bared his teeth and she laughed. “ _I_ didn’t hurt you, by the way. That was my brother. _He’s_ the one with the wicked crossbow. I prefer guns and ammunition myself.”

            She twirled the gun around her fingers and then pointed it at his chest. “We were all pretty sure he’d done the trick. He’s never wasted so many arrows before. We figured you _had_ to be dead. Too bad your little human is a clever one. What was it like for you? Having him play nursemaid to you? Having everything you want so close?”

            The growl that ripped its way from his chest was feral. _How did she know?_

“What the hell is going on?” Meredith demanded.

            “Werewolves are real. Surprise.” The hunter smirked. “Your boyfriend has been keeping secrets from you, sweetie. Big secrets.”

            “You’re lying. Stiles doesn’t know about this. He can’t. This isn’t real. This, this can’t—”

            “Stop playing with them, Alex. It’s cruel to torture the animals before putting them down.”

            Derek moved quickly, shoving Meredith back against the lockers, plastering his back against her front, shielding her as a man appeared behind them.

            She let out a breath in surprise as the man came to stand with the girl—Alex?—in front of them. Alex aimed her gun and he aimed a—oh holy hell—crossbow at his chest.

            He heard a startled scream from the watching teacher as Alex and her gun entered her view. Meredith moaned behind him.

            Derek noted that they had their aim on his chest, slightly to the left and slightly to the right. There was no moving to get away. He was dead.

            “You’re a tough one,” Alex said, running her fingers over the gun. “But this is it for you. You’re done now.”

            A familiar heartbeat was approaching, though, and clumsy steps. _Shit._ Stiles.

            “I know you can hear me. If you howl or do something stupid and I lose my element of surprise, I will kill you myself.” Stiles mumbled the words. If he wasn’t Derek’s mate, Derek would not have heard him.

            “—should’ve done the trick,” The boy was saying. “How you survived that many arrows full of things that _poison_ you is beyond me. I figured you’d _want_ to die. You killed your entire family. How can you _live_ with yourself?”

            Derek snarled.

            “Don’t worry. You don’t have to anymore.” He pulled the arrow back, ready to release it.

            A gun cocked and Stiles voice came low, and threatening. “Get away from him.”

            Alex laughed. “Are you _serious?_ The _human_ is coming to the rescue?”

            Stiles smirked. “I’m not alone. The entire school is surrounded. All classrooms are in lockdown. You have nowhere to go. Even if you kill him, you’ll be dead so fast you won’t even have time to be proud of yourselves.”  

            “You got the _human_ police department involved? What do they know about this?”

            “The Sheriff knows _everything._ He hates me for it, but he doesn’t want me dead. So if he helped me gather an army,” Stiles shrugged.

            “We aren’t afraid of them.”

            “Oh, I know. But I have others. You’ve probably heard about them. The _Argents?”_

Alex and her brother went rigid and Derek launched himself forward, claws raking down Alex’s face as he tackled her to the ground. Her attack would have been quicker than her brother’s—he has to get a bow ready. She just has to aim and pull the trigger.

            “You _idiot,”_ Stiles screeched from behind him, scrambling around. “What the _hell!”_

Derek was about to dig his nails into her chest, deep enough to kill, when he felt the tips of arrows being pressed into either side of his neck.

            “Do you think I can shove these in hard enough to kill you without even needing the poison they’re laced with?”

            “Get your hands off him before I kill you.”

            “Get him off my sister.”

            In Derek’s peripheral vision, Stiles pulled back his gun and slammed it into the back of the man’s head. He’d clearly put all his weight behind it, and it was enough, the man fell limply to the ground.

             Alex howled in rage and fired her gun blindly. Derek felt a sharp pain in his bicep.           

            “Not again,” He roared.

            She laughed bitterly, ignoring the clear advantage he had. “I shot your sister once. Laura? She sounded exactly like you. Made the same exact noise you just did when I tried to kill her. I bet she made the same noise when she actually died.”

            Rage filled him and he dug his nails deep into her chest, through her heart, until he heard it stop beating.

            He pulled his blood covered claws back out of her and wiped the blood on his jeans.

            “Is he dead?” Stiles asked, toeing at the man with his shoe.

            “No,” Derek said quietly, “Just unconscious. We tell the police that he went crazy, tried to kill us, and stabbed his own sister in the chest with his arrows. In order to defend us, I had to hit him with this gun.” He took the gun from stiles and wiped it carefully with his shirt before gripping it with his clean hand, making sure his fingerprints were on it only. “It’s my gun. I brought it here when you told me you saw someone with a gun around school. Understood?”

            Stiles nodded.

            His girlfriend made a whimpering sound and Stiles whirled around.

            “Mer,” He said carefully. “Are you okay?”

            She shook her head.

            “I’m sorry,” He said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

            She let out a sob and fell forward. He moved quickly, catching her up in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her tight and Derek felt pain shoot through his chest. That should be him. He should have Stiles in _his_ arms. Stiles was _his_ mate. They were supposed to be together, not Stiles and this girl who knew nothing about the world.

            _It’s your own fault,_ he reminded himself. _You pushed him away. He loves her now._

“Shh,” Stiles murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

            “He just _killed_ someone! He-he lied-he said he was exonerated! He’s a killer! He—”

            “There are a lot of things you don’t understand.”

            “He just _killed_ someone. With his bare hands. I understand just fine.”

            “No, you don’t.” Stiles pulled back to meet her gaze. “He’s an antisocial, detached asshole but he isn’t a killer.”

            “That’s flattering,” Derek said flatly.

            Stiles turned to face him, keeping one arm securely around Meredith’s waist, supporting her.

            “I have decided to forgive you for being such a massive dick. I mean, you literally shielded my girlfriend with your entire body. And I know you don’t know her well enough for you to risk your life for her sake, so I know you were doing it for mine. So we’re even?”

            Derek ran his tongue over his teeth. He felt like he had more than made up for what he had done, but he’ll take whatever Stiles gives him.

            “Yeah,” Derek said. “Is your dad waiting outside?”

            “Yeah. But the rest of the police aren’t. It’s just him.”

            “Are the Argents actually here?”

            “Allison’s dad is.”

            Derek smirked. “You lied to the people who wanted to kill me. Great.”

            Stiles made a face. “I prefer calling it _bluffing.”_

“You’re an idiot.”

            “Me? You freaking _charged_ someone with a gun pointed at you? Oh, shit. You got shot.”

            Derek looked down at his bicep and sighed. “Oh well. Boyd and Scott need the transfusions more than me.”

            Stiles glared at him with such anger in his eyes that it frightened Derek. “You do not get to give up.”

            Derek looked at him sadly. “I’m tired, Stiles. I am _so_ tired. I’m tired of watching people I care about die, of killing people—good or bad; it takes a toll on you. I am tired of paranoid sleepless nights, of doing everything _wrong,_ of ruining things for the pack. I am tired.”

            Stiles removed his arm from Meredith and she wobbled.

            He stomped toward Derek and got in his face. “I don’t give a damn how tired you are. You’re going to live. You know why? Because you _matter._ You were willing to die to save Mer to keep me from losing someone else. Do you realize that I’d have lost _you?_ That I would never forgive myself?”

            Derek slumped. “This isn’t your fault.”

            “Like hell. You’re not dying. Come on.”

            “Stiles, it’s okay. I was supposed to die in that fire years ago. The universe has been imbalanced ever since. If I die now, maybe—”

            “If you die now, there will be a pack without an alpha. I will have lost a friend, a pack mate, someone I _love._ If you can’t live for you, live for me, live for the pack. Please.”

            Derek’s wolf whimpered at the words and Derek grimaced. “Boyd and Scott need transfusions more than me—”

            “Boyd and Scott have Erica, Isaac, and Jackson. They got there quickly. They’ll be fine. You have me and Mer.”

            “No.”

            Stiles stiffened when she spoke up. Her voice did not shake or tremble. She was sure.

            Stiles turned to face her. “I don’t think you get it. If we don’t give him blood transfusions, he is going to die.”

            “He killed someone. Karma.”

            Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “He killed someone who has been going around killing innocent people her whole life. He’d never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

            “The motives don’t matter. The fact that he killed someone without batting an eyelash does. I am in no way helping him. And if you do, we’re done.”

            “You’re not being serious right now.”

            “Serious as a heart attack.”

            “You’re asking me to let my alpha, my _friend_ die. Do you realize that?”

            “I acknowledge that I am asking you to let a killer that you seem to trust get what he has coming for him.”

            Stiles’ jaw flexed and Derek sighed. “It’s fine, Stiles. I’m okay with dying.”

            “I’m _not!”_ He met Meredith’s gaze. “I can’t do this anymore. The fact that you’re willing to ask that of me proves that you’re not who I thought you were.”

            “You’re choosing him, then.”

            “I’m not letting him die.”

            She shrugged. “Your choice. This is what’s best for me anyway. Your life is _really_ fucked up.”

            Stiles sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He grabbed Derek’s good arm and tugged. “I’m taking him to Dr. Deaton’s veterinary shop. If you decide not to let an innocent man die, you can come there and help me save him. Or, if you won’t do that, you can come help me save Scott or Boyd. They need transfusions too. But you're starting to seem like the kind of person who would let her friends die, so I won’t hold my breath.”

            Derek and Stiles walked away, a dramatic exit, and Stiles exhaled sharply as they walked.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah.”

            “You don’t have to lie to me.”

            “I made you risk your life to save a girl who I’d only been dating for two weeks. I’m so _stupid._ Of _course_ the hunters would want you to go in, not me. You’re the one they actually want dead. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

            “It’s okay. I wouldn’t have let you go anyway.”

            “I know. You’re a big teddy bear.”

            Derek rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

            “Can you promise me something?”

            “That depends on what it is.”

            “Please?”

            Derek heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

            “Never think like you did back there. Never, _ever_ give up on yourself. I’ve been there before and it’s terrifying. I know. I need you to remember that you have a pack that cares about you. There is no way any of us would be better off without you.”

            They exited the school and the Sheriff and Chris Argent came over to them.

            “You’ve got an unconscious male and a dead female in there.” Stiles reported. “The story is that the man went crazy and stabbed his sister with the arrows he has. I had asked Derek to come to school to get me when I saw a girl with a gun. Derek came with a gun of his own and knocked the insane male unconscious when he tried to attack Meredith and me. Derek got shot, so I’m sure someone heard gunfire. I’m taking him to Deaton now.”

            The Sheriff’s eyes had flicked between Chris, Derek, and Stiles’ feet the whole time Stiles spoke. He hadn’t been kidding. His father wouldn’t even look at him.

            “We’ll take care of it,” Chris promised.

            Stiles nodded and pulled Derek over to his car. Derek swallowed down the vomit he felt rising in his throat. “I need you to drive,” He warned Stiles. “I’m about to pass out. And possibly throw up.”

            Stiles smiled weakly. “You’ll be okay,” He promised, easing Derek into the car just before everything went black.


	11. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter. People talk. Nothing really happens. Things start happening soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long these things take. school sucks.

“You should have told me you’re gay.”

            They were the first words Derek heard when he woke up.

            “I’m not _gay,”_ Stiles sounded insulted. “I’m _bisexual._ I wouldn’t have dated you if I was gay.”

            “You should have told me you have a boyfriend.”

            Stiles sputtered. “What?”

            Derek opened his eyes. He was in Stiles’ room. He glanced around and found them quickly. Stiles and Meredith stood in the corner. Her arms were folded and she rolled her eyes.

            “The two of you are pathetic.”

            “ _Derek?_ Derek is _not_ my boyfriend!”

            “Does _he_ know that?”

            “Yes,” Derek croaked, his voice cracking from lack of use.

            “You’re awake!” Stiles threw himself across his room to Derek’s side, tripping over his own feet and falling forward. Derek’s arm shot out and grabbed his shoulder, keeping him from smashing his head on his desk.

            “Thanks. How do you feel?”

            Derek shifted around. “Okay,” He said hesitantly. “Sore.”

            “That’s reasonable. You died.”

            He felt himself blink in shock. “I—what?”

            “We were about halfway to Deaton’s and I glanced over at you and your chest wasn’t moving. Since I’m prone to overreacting, I pulled over and checked and you weren’t breathing and you didn’t have a pulse. I got you out of the car and laid you on the sidewalk and did CPR.”

            “You know CPR?”

            “I did some research on it before. I mean, with this life, I can’t afford not to know stuff like that.”

            Derek ran his tongue over his dry lips and Stiles eyed him carefully. “If you think you can keep it down, I’d like to get you something to eat and drink. You’ve been unconscious for about a day.”

            Derek grimaced. “Really?”

            Stiles nodded and frowned, “Since you got shot with a bullet instead of an arrow, Deaton just had to remove the bullet and some of the tissue that surrounded it. He said you need a lot of rest and then you’ll be fine.”

            Derek nodded slowly. “What happened while I was out?”

            “Not much. Argent and my dad covered for us. The school thinks that some strange new kids were on drugs and went crazy. They think I was on my way home because I didn’t feel well when I saw someone with a gun and called you and my dad, knowing you’d get here faster. You’re not in trouble for bringing a gun into school or murdering that psycho chick.”

            Derek nodded and then paused. “Wait. You got your _dad_ to cover for _me?”_

Stiles sighed heavily. “I didn’t do it. Chris Argent did. I think my dad is one more supernatural incident away from kicking me out. He’s not dealing with this very well at all.”

            “He wouldn’t do that,” Derek said. “I don’t know much about your father, but I know he loves you.”

            “He’s so mad at me. I don’t know if he’s mad that I kept this a secret, or that I told him, or that I’m involved in this at all, or that I reported him as an alcoholic in work and got him put on a leave. He won’t look at me or talk to me. It... It really fucking sucks.”

            Derek looked away. “I’m sorry.”

            “I’m going to go,” Meredith announced. Derek had totally forgotten she was there in the first place.

            Stiles glanced at her and smiled sadly. “Bye.”

            She nodded and glanced at Derek briefly. “I’m not sorry that I didn’t volunteer to save you. But thank you for saving my life.”

            Derek just looked at her. “I didn’t do it for your sake,” He glanced at Stiles.

            She smirked. “Yeah, I know.”

            Stiles nudged Derek over in bed as soon as she was gone, flopping down to lay beside him. Derek’s wolf purred in delight.

            “Are you okay?” Stiles asked. “How do you feel?”

            Derek shrugged. “I feel fine.”

            Stiles nodded slowly. “Good.”

            “I’m sorry,” Derek said quietly.

            Stiles stiffened. Derek could feel it against his side. “What?”

            “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I was such an asshole to you before this. I’m sorry for every time I’ve ever hurt you. _I’m sorry.”_

Stiles slid down a little bit, resting his head against Derek’s shoulder. Both of their hearts sped up a little.

            “It’s okay. I overreact sometimes.”

            Derek tipped his head, putting his cheek against Stiles’ hair. “I’m tired.”

            “Me, too.”

            Derek pulled the blanket up over them. “Go to sleep then.”

            Stiles slid his hand along Derek’s stomach, wrapping his arm around his waist. Derek shifted, his arm going around Stiles’ shoulders, shifting his head closer to his chest. Stiles let out a low “mm” and they fell asleep, pressed against one another.

*           *           *

            Derek woke up to the sound of footsteps coming into the Stilinski house. It took him a brief second to identify the Sheriff.

            Stiles had shifted onto his stomach, sprawled across Derek, his head on his chest, arm across his stomach, leg draped over both of Derek’s. Derek had one arm securely around his waist, the other tucked behind his own head. Everything felt warm and perfect. _I’m home._

The Sheriff came to stand in the doorway. He looked at them and Derek braced himself and met the man’s gaze.

            “You’re not going to hurt him are you?”

            The Sheriff didn’t bother to whisper, and Derek tensed and glanced down to where Stiles was still snoring contentedly against his chest.

            “He’s not going to wake up. He sleeps like the dead. Answer my question.”

            Derek shook his head. “Of course not,” He said, just loud enough for the Sheriff to hear.

            “If you hurt him, I will hunt you for the rest of your life. I will not make your death quick.”

            “I wouldn’t want you to. And I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I think Stiles really needs your forgiveness.”

            He watched the older man’s face close off. “You’re right. You have no right to ask anything of me.”

            “I know that. But as someone who cares about your son an awful lot, I just—”

            “He’s only a teenager, you know. It’s illegal. Statutory—”

            “I’m not sleeping with Stiles!” He glances down at the boy asleep on his chest and sighs. “Okay, I am. But I’m not _having sex_ with Stiles.”

            “But there is something going on between you two.”

            “Stiles is important to me, just like the rest of the pack.”           

            Sheriff Stilinski sighed. “He’s not going to stop screwing around with this stuff is he? No matter what I say or do, he’s always going to choose this life.”

            “Yes, I think so.”

            He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How has the world turned to this?”

            “The world has always been this way. You’re just seeing it now.”

            He looked at Derek carefully. “Did you really mean it? When you said you would protect him with your life?”

            “I did. I’ll die before I let someone hurt Stiles.”

            The Sheriff nodded. “We’re on the same page then.”

            Derek nodded too. The Sheriff turned and left and a moment later, Stiles stirred against him, shifted closer. “S’nice,” He mumbled into Derek’s neck, “You ’n my dad. Gettin’ along.”

            “Go back to sleep.”

            “Will you stay?”

            Derek sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m staying.”

            He felt Stiles smile against his skin.

*           *           *

            Derek woke up when Stiles’ heartbeat changed. It sped up as the younger boy woke up.

            They’d changed positions again, laying on their sides so that they were facing on another. Derek had one arm stretched out, Stiles’ head pillowed on his bicep, the other curled around his waist. Stiles had his hands wrapped around Derek’s forearm like he was holding him there.

            He shifted, arching his back, pressing his chest and stomach against Derek’s. “Mm, g’morning.”

            “Good morning.”

            “Oh, _god._ My breath probably smells so bad right now _oh my god,_ and you have werewolf senses, _ugh.”_ Stiles flailed awkwardly, shoving hand over his own mouth.

            Derek chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I should probably get going anyway. I jog—”

            “ _No,_ you do _not._ I will buy you a freaking treadmill. No more running. No more getting shot up by hunters. _Please._ You killed a Venator. We don’t know how many of them are left, but I am pretty damn sure they _all_ want you dead.”

            Derek ran his tongue over his teeth. “I can handle myself.”

            “How has that worked out for you in the past? I faintly recall you falling through my window a few days ago.”

            Derek grimaced. “I—”

            “ _Please,”_ Stiles begged and Derek’s resolve wavered. “I really don’t think my nerves can handle you nearly dying again. We need to take as many precautions as possible until this is taken care of.”

            Derek looked at him for a long time. “I don’t understand why you care.”

            Stiles’ face closed off and he looked away. “I’m just sick of losing people, okay?”

            It was kicking below the belt a little bit, because Derek knew _exactly_ what that felt like. He was sick of it too.

            “I’ll be fine.”

            “You can’t know that!” Stiles yelled the words and then took a deep breath. “You don’t know that.”

            Derek pressed his lips into a line. “Stiles..”

            “No, it’s fine. Go. I have ... stuff to do.”

            “I’m not leaving while you’re mad. I’m not doing that again.”

            Brown eyes met his. “I’m not mad, okay? I’m just _frustrated._  I want to be able to _protect_ you, protect the _pack.”_

Derek closed his eyes briefly. “Do you want the bite?”

            Stiles heaved a heavy sigh. “ _No._ Jesus, what is with Hales and wanting to bite me?”

            Derek’s eyes snapped open and he threw himself toward Stiles, pushing him against a wall before he even had time to think. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

            Stiles flailed wildly, smacking Derek’s chest. “Whoa! Back up there, big guy. Personal space, man, personal space. Didn’t mean to insult you. I was just talking about how your uncle—”

            Derek jumped away from Stiles like he’d been burned.

            “—offered me the bite. Are you okay?”

            “Peter. Offered you the bite,” Derek spoke in broken sentences, his voice weak with disbelief.

            “Is that really so shocking? Do you really think I’d be a terrible wolf? You just offered, too, like three seconds ago—”

            _“No,_ Stiles. I mean, _Peter_ offered the bite. _Peter._ Peter doesn’t give anyone the option to say _no._ He didn’t force it on you and he didn’t kill you. That’s a big deal, Stiles! Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

            Stiles shrugged and looked away. “I didn’t think it was very important.”

            “You thought wrong.”

            “Well, nothing I seem to do with you is right, so...”

            Derek sighed. “Stiles—”

            “I’m not angry. I’m tired and I want to sleep in my own bed. Alone. Please leave.”

            There was a spike in his heart rate when he said _alone,_ but Derek chose to ignore that piece of information. He took a deep breath and turned for the window.

            “Be careful,” Stiles called out as he left. “Please don’t get shot again.”

            There was something in his voice, something weak, something needy, something _pleading_ that hit Derek hard. “I’ll do my best. You be careful, too.”

            Stiles laughed bitterly. “You don’t have to worry about that. Scott’s coming over for an all-day video game binge. It’s been too long since we’ve hung out. I think Isaac’s coming. You can too, if you want.”

            Derek shook his head. “Thanks for the invitation, but—”

            “Of course not. It’s fine. Have fun brooding.”      

            He rolled his eyes and jumped out the window. He kept himself as aware as possible at all times as he sprinted home. He didn’t take the long way. He didn’t jog around the perimeter. He went straight home and hoped he didn’t almost die along the way.

            He made it home safely and sighed in relief as the door shut behind him.  Something was wrong, though. It didn’t feel like home. He took a deep breath and realized why.

            It didn’t smell like Stiles.


	12. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm starting to twine things from season 3, but i'm twisting them into my own story.

            Things were okay for a while. Things were actually _great_ for a while. They eventually found the Venators. When they did, they had the Argents with them. An agreement was made. It was unnervingly peaceful.

            Allison and Scott officially got back together—real dates, no sneaking out, the whole deal. Isaac wandered around Derek’s house like a kicked puppy for a little while, but he recovered.  Boyd and Erica are together. They don’t talk about it, and they show much affection publicly, but they reek like each other and everyone knows. Jackson and Lydia are exactly the same as always.

            Stiles and Derek are _friends._ Actual friends that don’t hurt each other’s feelings. It’s a huge step forward for them.

            They have weekly pack meetings. They typically end with the whole pack squishing together in Derek’s family room, watching a chick flick Lydia picked out.  They have werewolf training sessions twice a week. Scott even comes most of the time. The humans sit on Derek’s porch and watched, sometimes offering advice.

            Derek stopped renting the loft.  He didn’t need it. He had a real home that smelled like pack.

            Stiles’ dad had accepted this life, letting Stiles go to pack meetings without any trouble. He also got wolfsbane bullets from Chris Argent and armed himself. He began teaching Stiles how to shoot a moving target with accuracy.  He promised he would give him a gun of his own once he was sure he wouldn’t hurt himself with it accidentally.

            Everything was great. Derek was _happy._

It was Friday, time for the weekly pack meeting. Derek was sitting on the couch with the pack. Except someone was missing.

            “Scott? Did Stiles tell you when he left?”

            Scott looked away from Allison, blushing. “What?”

            “Stiles,” Derek said impatiently. “Did he leave yet?”

            “I don’t know,” Scott said. “I haven’t talked to him since last night.”

            Derek’s stomach dropped to the soles of his feet. _No._

            He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed. When he got his voicemail, he got to his feet and grabbed his keys. “I’m going to go see if he’s home. Call me if he gets here.”

            “Derek? Calm down. Maybe he’s just late,” Isaac said.

            “Stiles is always the first one here,” He said firmly. “He wouldn’t be late.”

            “You’re right. Should I come?” Scott asked, _finally_ snapping out of his Allison-induced haze.

            “No, I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll call if I can’t find him.”

            The pack all agreed, and Derek would not admit that he sprinted to his car and drove quite illegally to the Stilinski house.

            He slipped through Stiles’ open window and frowned. He wasn’t there. But the Jeep was still parked in the driveway. There was unfamiliar scent in the room and Derek wanted to throw up.

            Derek jumped back down to the ground and knocked on the front door.

            The Sheriff looked moderately surprised to see him. “Derek Hale using my front door? What’s the occasion?”

            “Where’s Stiles?” Derek asked.

            “He’s in his room studying for his Calculus final, why? If you’re here to drag him to that weekly movie night, I don’t think that’s as important as his grade—”

            “Stiles isn’t in his room. He’s not in the house at all. Someone else has been here.” Derek’s stomach was rolling, his heart pounding in fear.

            He watched as the color drained from the Sheriff’s face. He turned away from the door and rushed for the stairs. Derek followed, kicking the door shut behind him.

            Painted across Stiles’ bedroom door in blood red was a symbol. It looked almost like his triskele, but the center was a triangle and the lines stemming out from it were sharp and pointed. He yanked his phone out of his pocket and composed a text. He sent the picture of the symbol to the pack with the caption STILES MISSING—THIS ON HIS DOOR.

            Derek turned to the Sheriff. “Do _not_ file a missing persons case on him. This is not some human thing. I can tell you that right now.”

            “What do you expect me to _do_ then? Twiddle my thumbs while my son is kidnapped by some _animal?”_

“I need you to look around and see if his cell phone was left here. If it’s not here, he might still have it. I assume you have the technology to track cell phones at the station. Use it.”

            “Then what?”

            “Then you call me.” Derek pushed open the door to Stiles’ room and scribbled his phone number down on a piece of paper from his desk. He shoved it at the Sheriff.

            “What are you going to do?”

            “Talk to Deaton, see if I can find him another way.”

            “How? What other way?”

            Derek flashed his eyes. “These senses aren’t for nothing,” he said. “Call me if you find anything.”

*          *          *

            “An alpha pack,” Lydia said into the phone as Derek drove to Deaton’s. “It’s literally a pack of alpha werewolves. They kill other alphas to gain their power.”

            “How did you find this out?”

            “We talked to Peter,” She said, her voice filled with disgust.

            “It doesn’t make _sense,”_ Scott said in the background. “Stiles is human. What could they possibly gain from killing a human?”

            “You’re an idiot,” Lydia said.

            “They’re not going to kill Stiles for power. They’re using Stiles as leverage to get me there.”

            “What are you going to do?” Lydia asked.

            “I’m going to kill them.”

            “Don’t be stupid,” Lydia said.

            Derek hung up the phone and pressed the gas all the way down.

*          *          *

            “Stiles was taken by an alpha pack.”       

            Derek watched as Deaton blinked in surprise. “You never visit with _good_ news, do you?”

            “I need to find him. _Now._ The Sheriff is tracking his phone, but they could have put that anywhere to mislead us. I need to track _him.”_

Deaton sighed. “That’d be a lot easier if you had magic, Derek. Werewolves cannot perform magical acts. The only way I think you could do it was if you had a strong emotional bond with him. Seeing as he is not one of your betas—”

            “I have a strong emotional bond with Stiles.”

            Deaton gave him a look. “Saving each other’s lives a few times—”  

            “Stiles is my mate.”

            Deaton’s eyebrows shot up.

            “I haven’t told him—or anyone—yet. But that kind of bond—it can save him, can’t it?”

            “I’m not sure. It can help you find him, though.”

            “How?”

            “Your wolf should be very familiar with Stiles, yes?”

            Derek nodded once.

            “Close your eyes and focus on him. Focus on the way he smells, the sound of his voice and his heart, everything you know about him.”

            Derek closed his eyes and did just that. He thought of his endless talking, his heartbeat slow with sleep, the way he smells like home. He thought of having Stiles in his arms. He thought of the way it felt when Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair. He thought of the way Stiles had opened up to him about his mother more than once, about how he listened when Derek talked about his family. He thought about the way his wolf loved Stiles more than anything. He thought of the way _he_ loved Stiles.

            It was like someone had wrapped a rope around Derek’s heart and started tugging it toward the door. He _needed_ to go, to run.

            “You can feel it now, can’t you?” Deaton sounded pleased. “You can feel the connection to him.”

            Derek nodded and opened his eyes.

            “I can see it in your face.” Deaton smiled a little. “Go find him. But be careful. This alpha pack—”           

            Derek was out the door before he could finish, sprinting out the door and into the part of woods closest to him. He allowed himself to run as fast as he could then, in the direction the imaginary rope was guiding him. He yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

            “Derek.” Boyd answered.

            “I know where to find him. I’m in the woods outside Deaton’s running north. Get there with the pack, find my scent, and follow it.”

            “Can’t you tell us where you’re going and we’ll drive?”

            “I’m not really sure yet, but I can feel it. Just trust me.”

            “We’re on our way.”

            Derek hung up and put the phone in his pocket, pushing himself forward as fast as he could. _I’m coming, Stiles._


	13. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's rescue mission doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will openly admit that this was inspired by a review by cougars_catnip. I will also admit that I really did not picture any of this happening the way it did when I started this chapter. At some point while I was writing, my planned plot slipped out of my hands and it became this.

The first scent that hit Derek was _Stiles._ It was shortly followed by wolfsbane, mistletoe, and such a large amount of other people that Derek stopped dead in his tracks.

            He listened hard, trying to find Stiles. He found his heart beat, slow and uneven, and Derek’s stomach lurched.

            “How long do you think it’ll take your little alpha to come find you, kid?” An unfamiliar voice leered.

            “Fuck off,” Stiles spat.

            “I’m sure he’s on his way.”

            “What do you want from him?”

            “Well, you see, I can’t tell you that. Not when he’s right outside listening.”

            _Fuck,_ Derek thought, and he heard Stiles’ heart race. “You’re lying.”

            “I’m not. His heartbeat just picked up, just like yours. He can hear everything we say.”   

            “ _Go,_ you _idiot!”_ Stiles yelled. “ _Run!_ Get _out_ of here.”

            Derek took off running, straight toward the nasty-smelling building. He didn’t make it far before someone was chasing him. He was about to whirl, preparing to fight, when he got hit in the back of the head, hard. Everything went black.

*          *          *

            He woke up coughing. The air around him was thick with the scent of wolfsbane. His wrists were burning, and he looked down to see handcuffs wrapped around them. But his wrists weren’t bound to each other, they were bound to skinny, pale wrists.

            His head snapped up. He and Stiles were facing each other, wrists connected. They both had their own ankles tied together with rope drenched in wolfsbane, and there was another rope connecting the two of them together at their bent knees.

            Stiles’ head was slumped forward against his chest and Derek took a deep breath, ignoring the way it burned his throat, and said “Stiles.”

            Stiles’ body flailed and he looked up at Derek. “Shit,” he said as if he just realized Derek was there. “They weren’t lying. Why do you have to be so _stupid?”_

“Excuse me? I came here to _save_ you.”

            Stiles rolled his eyes. “That’s what they wanted you to do! They weren’t going to kill me!”

            “Yes, they would have. Killing you would _enrage_ me, and I would attack them senselessly, with no plan, blinded by anger. They’d kill me easily, then.”

            He sighed. “And of course, they took me, the weakest link. Now I have to worry about my dad having a heart attack—”

            “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not weak? They didn’t take you because you’re human.”

            “Oh, yeah? Why’d they take me, then?” His voice was a challenge and Derek would always rise to Stiles' challenges, even when he didn't want to.

            Derek closed his eyes. He had to tell him. There was no way around it now.

            “Because they knew I’d be able to find you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “If they took anyone else, I wouldn’t necessarily be able to find them.”

            “But _why_ can you find _me?”_

Derek took a deep breath through his nose, “Because you’re my mate.”

            Stiles stiffened and Derek tried not to flinch. “That—no. You and I aren’t even _friends,_ you said so yourself.”

            “I was wrong. And even if I personally did not feel strongly about you, my wolf always did.”

            He could feel Stiles’ eyes running over his face, but he kept his own gaze down.

            “So you tolerate me, but your wolf is in love with me?”

            Derek sighed. “I do more than just _tolerate_ you, Stiles.”

            “But you don’t like me, right?”

            Derek kept quiet. _Coward,_ he thinks to himself.

            “Wait. You _do_ like me?”

            Derek kept his head ducked and his eyes down.

            “Slow down, don’t talk so fast,” Stiles said, and Derek knew his eyes were rolling.

            The ground appeared to be tipping at an awkward angle. He lifted his head and realized that the room was spinning around them. “I’m going to pass out.”

            “Are you freaking _kidding_ me? I know you’re bad at talking about feelings, but _seriously?”_

“The air is full of wolfsbane, Stiles. I’ve been breathing too much of it in.”

            “Shit,” Stiles said. “If you throw up on me, I will kill them myself.”

            “Stiles,” Derek mumbled as things started going white.

            “No, no, please stay awake, Derek, please. Come on.” Stiles shifted, maneuvering so that one of his knees was in between Derek’s.  He locked his arms and pulled himself, up, forward, using his connection to Derek’s body to give himself leverage. He ended up standing, knees bent, hunched forward, over Derek.

            “I don’t know where I’m going,” Stiles said. “This was a bad idea.”

            The new position allowed Derek to see Stiles more clearly than the dim room had before. He was covered in bruises and cuts and he smelled like too many other people, too much.

            Derek was losing his grip on his control. His wolf was vibrating with anger. It wanted to break free of his restraints and kill everyone within ten feet of Stiles.

            “Whoa,” Stiles said, eyes widening. “Calm down, Sourwolf. If you shift with me this close, I’m toast.”

            Derek ground his teeth—now elongated—and tried to get the red out of his eyes, but he couldn’t. “Need—new—anchor,” he managed through his teeth.

            Stiles poked his tongue into the side of his cheek and thought for a moment. “Can I be your anchor? I’m your mate, right? Your wolf likes me. Can I calm him down?”

            Derek knew he _could,_ that if anything could settle him down now, it was probably Stiles. But...

            “Won’t be a one-time thing,” He managed. “You’ll always be my anchor.”

            Stiles shrugged. “Good thing I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

            He shifted, twisting his wrists in the manacles, twining Derek’s fingers in his. He slid down so that his thigh was between Derek’s knees and his body was laying on Derek’s. It was awkward at first—Stiles grunting as Derek’s knee jammed into his groin—but eventually they got settled so Stiles was situated against his chest, in his arms.

            Derek pressed his face into Stiles’ hair, breathing in the smell of mate, hoping it would protect him from the wolfsbane, at least a little.

            His wolf settled, calming at the feel of Stiles in his grip, warm and pliant against him.

            “We’re going to have to talk about this, you know. If you aren’t feeling up to it now, then later, if we survive.”

            “We’re going to be fine.”

            “Can I ask you something?”

            “You’ll ask even if I say no.”

            “How long have you known?”

            Derek took a deep breath. “You remember that day we met in the woods? When Scott was just bitten?”

            “No. No _freaking_ way,” Stiles squirmed in his arms, trying to find a way to meet his gaze, but there wasn’t enough leeway. “You've known all this time and you said _nothing?”_

Derek sighed. “I didn’t want to freak you out.”

            “Oh, for God’s sake. My best friend grows fur and turns into a freaking wolf on full moons.   _Nothing_ can freak me out anymore.”

            Derek grimaced. “It’s a lot of pressure—”

            “But saving the pack’s furry little butts all the time isn’t? I can handle pressure.”

            “I didn’t want you to feel _obligated._ I could never live with myself if I thought you only agreed because you _pitied_ me.”

            “Bullshit. You know I’d never do something I didn’t want to. These are just really bad excuses—”

            “I didn’t want you to be _stuck_ with me, okay? I’m not the kind of person you can have a real future with! You see the position we’re in now? This is _my life._ This is how it is always going to be for me!”

            He took a deep breath. “You can leave. You can go to college and major in something entirely unrelated to this life and you can marry a human and not have to worry about hunters or crazy werewolves wanting you dead. You can walk away from this. _I can’t._ This is part of who I am. And if people found out you and I were together... You’d be a huge target. Look. This is what happened because they somehow figured out you were my mate. They _kidnapped_ you.”

            Stiles sighed heavily. “They kidnapped me because of my _mouth,_ damn it, not _you._ They came into my window and asked me when they’d be able to find you alone—apparently they’d gone close enough to the house to smell the pack. I told them I’d die before I let them hurt you or my pack. So they knocked me out and brought me here. They don’t know anything about this.”

            There was a bitter laugh and then someone was walking down the stairs. _“Please,”_ A female voice said. “Anyone who watched you two interact would know _something_ was going on. You’re so cute.”

            The voice was familiar and it made something angry flare up inside Derek. Who—

            “Meredith?” Stiles voice shook and was filled with horror. “Meredith. Of _course._ Of _freaking_ course. Because this is _my_ life.”

            She laughed. “Oh, stop pitying yourself. It was your own mistake. New girl suddenly comes to town. Surprisingly pretty. Lydia immediately welcomes her. She shows interest in the shy loser for some odd reason. This sounding familiar?”

            Derek could hear Stiles swallow thickly, “Scott and Allison.”

            “I kept waiting for you to catch on. To realize that the exact same thing doesn’t happen twice, right back to back. Come on.”

            “How do you even _know_ about Scott and Allison and their story? You weren’t _here_ when that happened.”

            She laughed again and it felt like a punch to the stomach. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t really think we decided to take down this town in a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing? It’s small and full of fools, sure, but you guys keep beating the odds for some unknown reason. We knew we’d have to be pretty careful.

            “Of course, the Venators got in our way a little bit. We couldn’t have our precious alpha dead before we even got our hands on him, could we? We quickly got them on our side, though. They wanted the same thing as us—the hale pack to be _done._ We told them they could kill as many betas as they wanted whenever they wanted as long as they left the alpha for us. They agreed, _of course,_ because alphas are typically a challenge.

            “The incident in school was unexpected, though. You weren’t supposed to get shot that day, Derek. That’s why I didn’t volunteer to save you. If I did, if my _blood_ ran in _your_ veins, my pack would kill me. Sure, it’d be a waste if you died before they could kill you, but hey, at least you’d be dead, you know? But I figured you’d be fine anyway. It was just one bullet. You’ve outlived worse.

            “We’ve had eyes and ears all over this town for nearly a year now. Poor Stiles’ daddy and his drinking problem. And Cora’s teddy. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to know you kept it.”

            Something about her sentence struck Derek. What had she said wrong?

            _She’ll_ instead of _she’d,_ he realized. The death of Derek’s family had been brutal and difficult to overcome. It had taken him a long time to begin using past tense when talking about his relatives. Of course he’d notice when someone used present tense.

            “What do you mean _she will?_ Cora—”

            A loud growl shook the basement and Meredith sighed. “I have to go,” She said. “I wasn’t supposed to come down here yet, but your conversation was getting too mushy. Don’t confess your undying love for one another until right before we kill you, please. It’ll make everything so much better.”

            She was laughing as she walked away.

            “I feel sick,” Stiles announced.

            “Me, too,” Derek agreed.

            “We have terrible taste in women,” Stiles said lowly.

            “She said _she’ll,_ Stiles. She talked about my sister like she’s still alive.”

            “You don’t think...?”

            “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

            “Well, what are you waiting for? Find out. You’re her alpha, right? If you growl loud enough, she’ll respond, right?”

            “I don’t know. I don’t know if it works like that—”

            “Try it,” Stiles encouraged.

            Derek took a deep breath. He filled his lungs with rage and desperation and let out the loudest, most feral and angry roar he had ever managed. Stiles flinched against his chest.

            It echoed around the room they were in, and then softly, so softly Derek barely heard it with his senses, in a broken whisper:

            “Derek?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh, cliff hanger--kind of. comment? let me know how you liked it? I totally did not plan on making Meredith evil--I was going to keep her a bitch the entire time but this happened instead.


	14. Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles go for a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! School is distracting!

“Holy _shit,_ why did I suggest that? I should have known better! It’s not like I could cover my ears. _Jesus.”_ Stiles must have realized Derek was tense because he stiffened. “Wait, did you hear something I didn’t?”

            Derek nodded. “She’s here.”

            “We need to find her,” he decided.          

            “How?”  Derek growled. “We’re tied together.”

            “Okay, calm down. You don’t need to get all growly. We’ll figure it out.”

            “How are we supposed to figure it out? We are _tied together_.”

            Stiles gripped Derek’s fingers in his. “On the count of three we’re going to stand.”

            It was easier said than done. They pushed their hands together to create resistance and began shoving to their feet. Once they were upright, Derek paused.

            “Give me a minute,” He says, and then, ignoring the way the rope made its way under the leg of his pants to burn his skin, he focused all his strength on pushing his legs apart. He heard the rope start to fry and weaken and he tugged harder and harder until it ripped and his feet were freed.

            He could feel wetness on his ankles that he was sure was blood, but he chose to ignore it. “Bend down with me a little,” He told Stiles, and they stooped down.

            Derek let his claws come out and he began using them to pick apart the rope that held their legs together. He shoved a claw into the knot, ignoring the way wolfsbane seeped under his nail and burned like hell. He got the knot loose enough that it fell to their ankles. They stepped out of it carefully and Derek sighed.

            “I can’t do anything about the handcuffs,” He said quietly, “So we’re just going to have to walk together.”

            Stiles nodded. “I’ll go backwards,” He offered, “because your vision is better and you can steer me better than I could you.”

            Derek nodded too. “Cora, can you hear me?” He raised his voice and wondered how long he could talk without passing out from breathing in so much wolfsbane. Stiles’ scent had helped, but he didn’t know how much longer he’d be okay.

            “Yes,” He heard her say, and he maneuvered Stiles so they would be headed in the right direction.

            “Walk carefully. If you think you’re going to fall, grab me. Don’t get hurt.”

            Stiles nodded and started taking cautious steps backward. Derek walked with them, keeping their fingers interlocked.

            “I need you to keep talking to me, Cora,” Derek called out.  “I can’t smell you.”

            “Okay,” She said back, and it made him nervous how week her voice was. 

            “I can’t keep talking. My throat’s on fire. If I pass out, we’re all screwed.”

            “I’ll talk,” Stiles offered. “I can’t hear you, Cora, but if you talk to him, I’ll talk to you.”

            “Tell him I agree.”

            Derek nodded at Stiles.

            “My name is Stiles Stilinski,” He said. “You’re Cora Hale. Der’s sister.”

            Something in Derek’s stomach clenched and twisted at the nickname.

            “Yeah,” She said. “I am.”

            “I can’t wait to meet you,” Stiles continued. “I’m really happy you’re alive. And I know he is too.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m not sure how much longer that’ll be true.”

            Derek couldn’t help the small noise he made. He took a deep breath and held it in as long as he could as Stiles talked.

            “It’s a good thing we did the house the way we did. We recently rebuilt it and Derek only planned on having four rooms. But when we did the actual rebuilding, I strong-armed him into building another floor of just rooms for pack sleepovers and whatnot.”

            “ _He_ strong-armed _you?_ Aren’t you the alpha? That’s what they’ve been telling me.”

            Derek flashed his eyes at Stiles, hoping he’d know to explain.

            “Your brother doesn’t like to admit that he’s a total softie. But he is. I _always_ win our fights, don’t I, big guy?”

            Derek growled and Stiles laughed happily, rolling his eyes in such a fond way that Derek’s chest ached.

            “Well, you see, it turns out that our big bad alpha has a secret that he’s been keeping from me, eh?” Stiles narrowed his eyes for a second and then his expression relaxes and he gives Derek a look, requesting permission to tell her. He nodded. He wasn’t good at talking or making announcements; Stiles may as well do it for him.

            “Apparently, your brother and I are mates,” Stiles said easily, as if the words carried no weight. Derek couldn’t help the small choking noise that came out of him in response.

            “Wow, really, Der? I didn’t even know you’re gay.”

            Derek could feel himself getting lightheaded, so he stopped walking and tugged on Stiles’ hands, pulling him forward. Stiles ended up pressed against Derek’s front, their arms falling loosely at their sides. Derek pressed his face into the crook of his mate’s neck, breathing in his scent. Stiles smelled like sweat and blood with a faint undertone of laundry detergent and soap. He smelled like safety and comfort and he leaned into it automatically, letting the scent wash the wolfsbane from his lungs.

            Stiles pulled one of their intertwined hands up, shaking their fingers apart so he could run his long fingers through Derek’s hair. He continued stroking his hair and a simple touch shouldn’t be so intimate and reassuring.

            “You okay?” Stiles murmured.

            Derek nodded against his neck. “Just give me a minute.”

            Stiles pulled his other hand up to rub at Derek’s back and Derek never wanted to move.

            “Derek? Are you okay?”

            “Mm,” He responded, taking in a long drag of his scent before pulling away. “Keep moving.”

            Stiles nodded and twisted their fingers back together. His thumb traced the back of Derek’s hand.           

            “Are you okay?” Cora asked.

             Derek jerked his chin at Stiles and he began babbling again.

            “We’re on the move again. Derek just needed to take a minute to clear his head of the wolfsbane a little. Apparently my scent helps that.” Stiles shrugged as if Cora could see him. “How are you alive right now? Isn’t the wolfsbane making it impossible for you to talk?”

            “No, I’m in a different room. There isn’t any wolfsbane in here.”

            “Then why the hell haven’t you escaped yet?” Derek couldn’t help but snarl.

            “Because _I’m_ not an alpha! That much wolfsbane can kill me!”

            Derek pulled his hand away from Stiles’ and dragged their wrists up so he could run his hand down his face.

            “C’mon, let’s keep moving,” Stiles urges. “If they come down here and see we’re moving, we’re dead. Let’s keep going.”

            They did. They moved for what felt like days but Derek knew was probably a little longer than an hour or so. He had to stop to press his face into Stiles’ neck two more times, but eventually he could make out a wall in the darkness. He squeezed Stiles’ fingers. “We’re here.”

            He squinted at the door until he found the handle. He was about to reach for it, and then paused. “It might have wolfsbane on it,” He said quietly. “Stiles, can you—”

            “I can’t see anything.”

            Derek guided their hands to the doorknob. Stiles grabbed it and turned. It stuck and he had to yank pretty hard before it opened. Derek pushed himself into the room, tugging Stiles in too.

            The air was fresh and he said, “Close the door behind us,” to Stiles.

            Stiles yanked the door shut and Derek began taking deep breaths. His chest burned and ached. The room smelled sour, like blood, sweat, and other bodily fluids that he didn’t want to think about. But there was no wolfsbane and he felt better fairly quickly.

            “Derek?”

            He spun, tugging Stiles with him, and Stiles moaned. “Whoa, dude, careful. I’m nauseous enough as is.”

            “Cora,” Derek said, ignoring him. “Cora.”

            She was sitting in the corner, skinny knees pulled against her chest. It was dark, but Derek was pretty sure she had sickly bruises covering every inch of her skin. She scrambled upright and threw herself at him, ducking between his arms to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her as much as he could, and Stiles made a pained noise. “Don’t bend that way, dude.”

            Derek dropped his arms and Cora ducked back, away from him. “Are you okay?”

            He nodded. “Cora, this is Stiles, my mate. Stiles, this is my sister Cora.”

            “Hey Cora, it’s nice to meet you. I mean, not really—” he made a frustrated noise. “It’s nice to know crazy Peter isn’t the only family Sourwolf has left, but I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances that we meet.”

            Derek ran his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand.

            “This isn’t really a good time to worry about introductions, don’t you think? How are we getting out of here, Der?”

            Derek frowned at his sister’s rudeness but decided against scolding her right now. He squeezed Stiles’ fingers in apology. “I don’t know. Stiles? Have any ideas?”

            “Give me a minute to think. Can we pace? I need to pace.”

            Derek glared at him. “ _No,_ we can’t _pace._ Think while standing still. Or is that too hard?”

            “Okay watch the attitude. It’s not my fault we’re in this mess.”

            “If it weren’t for you, Derek wouldn’t have been here in the first place,” Cora snapped.

            “I didn’t tell him to come save me! If you could hear that much, why didn’t you hear me tell him to _leave?”_

“Knock it off,” Derek growled. “The last thing I need right now is you two bickering.”

            “He started it.”

            “No, I definitely didn’t.”

            Derek roared and Cora cringed back. Stiles rolled his eyes and glared. “You’re such a drama queen, oh my god. Calm down. No need to go all alpha on me.” Stiles frowned and looked down at the handcuffs. “Do you have a hairpin?” He asked Cora.

            She sook her head. “No. My hair was down when I came here.”

            “Do you have wire or anything? Can you guys _see_ anything I could use to pick these?”

            Derek and Cora both looked around and then Derek heard a heartbeat growing nearer and stiffened. “Someone’s coming.”

            “Shit,” Stiles said. “Shit. How are you supposed to fight when you’re attached to me?”

            “Do you think I can pick the lock with my nail?” Cora asked, moving toward them.

            “It would need to be really thin.”

            Cora’s claws came from the tips of her fingers. “I don’t know how to do this.”

            “They’re coated in wolfsbane,” Derek warned her. “If it gets under the claw it’s going to burn like a bitch.”

            She shrugged. “At least you’ll be alive.”

            “I know how to pick them,” Stiles said. “I just don’t have the tools. It might work, but you’ll need to listen to me. Can you do that without arguing?”

            Cora looked at Stiles for a second and grimaced. “We don’t have time for anything else.”

            Stiles squinted at her finger. “Your nail is too wide.”

            She pulled her claw up to her mouth and let her teeth elongate. She bit down into the nail, face tightening at the pain, and chewed the nail of her index finger until it was quite a bit thinner. “How’s that?”

            Stiles nodded. He talked her through it, telling her where to move, how to shift, how hard to push. There was a click and then Derek’s wrist was falling free. There was an angry red line around it, but he was out. She started to move to free Stiles’ wrist, but Stiles sook his head and offered her the other hand. “Get this one. I don’t need my wrists free. The cuffs aren’t hurting me.”

            So she picked Derek’s other wrist free, and then the heartbeat was right outside and Derek spun Stiles around, pushing him against the wall so Derek was firmly in front of his mate.

            Stiles exhaled sharply and put his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Please be careful. Please.”

            The amount of worry in his voice hit Derek like a ton of brick and his chest ached. “You, too. I heal. You won’t.”

            “That doesn’t mean you get to be stupid and reckless. Your life _matters,_ Derek. Don’t die trying to prevent me from getting a stupid injury that I would recover from. I’d rather be hurt and have you than be perfectly fine while you’re dead.”

            Derek pressed his lips together because this is _such_ a bad time to have this conversation. He glanced at Cora. “If something happens to me, take Stiles and run.”

            Cora grimaced. “I can’t get out of here alive, wolfsbane, remember?”

            “ _Nothing is going to happen to you,”_ Stiles snapped forcefully at Derek.

            Derek let his hands fall to his sides, claws coming out. “We’ll see.”

            


	15. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen and Stiles and Derek get a bit mushy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay I got this done really quickly. That's what happens when I get unblocked, I update like a chapter every few days.

            Meredith stepped into the room, a gun in each hand. Derek snarled at her and Stiles took a shaking breath.

            “Meredith!” Stiles snapped and Derek growled. “Mer! _Stop.”_

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek and Meredith said at the same time.

            “No! Okay you need to listen to me. You’re a hunter, okay, I get that there’s something chemically _wrong_ in your brain that makes you think the man in front of me is capable of no good. But you have to know that’s a lie! He _saved your life,_ Meredith. Don’t you think you owe it to him to do the same?”

            “That _thing_ is not a man and I owe him nothing.”

            “Oh please. If he’s not a man, tell me what is. Tell me what makes someone human.”

            “He’s an _animal,_ Stiles. It’s really a shame you had to get involved with them. I really liked you.”           

            Stiles’ laugh was angry and bitter. “You are twice the animal Derek could ever be.”

            Meredith’s face darkened and Derek grimaced. “You’re only making things worse.”

            “Shut _up,_ Derek.” Stiles stepped out from around him and Derek growled in warning.

            Meredith shifted her gun just a bit. It was now located between Derek and Stiles, capable of killing whichever one of them seemed to be the biggest threat. Derek’s wolf was whimpering at the sight of his mate in danger. He needed to protect him.

            Derek grabbed Stiles around the waist and pushed him back.

            “You’re so _ridiculous._ I can handle myself.”

    "Oh, can you?"

    "Yes, I can, Sourwolf!"

             Meredith grimaced. “Deucalion is going to kill me for this, but I’m just so sick and tired of listening to your pathetic flirting.”

            She shifted the gun back to Derek's chest, slid her finger onto the trigger and pulled.

            Derek gripped Stiles’ hip and threw himself sideways. He knew he didn’t make it—his movement should have landed the bullet right into his ribcage. He tensed, waiting for blow that never came.

            He smelled wolfsbane and blood and looked down in horror. Stiles’ arms had wrapped around Derek’s midsection, and blood was soaking his sleeve.

            Derek didn’t recognize the feral growl that escaped him. He was launching himself at Meredith before he could think. Shots were fired as the two of them hit the ground hard, her body taking the impact. He heard a bone snap. His teeth sank into her neck and he pulled his arm back and drove his nails right into her heart.

            He jerked up to his feet the instant her heart stopped beating, wiping his hands frantically on his pants and spit a mouthful of her blood onto the ground. He whirled and slid to his knees where Stiles was on the ground, arm bloody and limp against his side.

            “Keep breathing,” Derek said, taking the human’s head into his hands, tipping it sideways. “Can you talk?”

            “Mm, I thought you told me to shut up.”

            Derek laughs loudly, giddy with relief. “Keep breathing. Try to make them even. Okay? This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.” Derek used his claw to shred Stiles’ sleeve. He quickly found the wound and pressed his hand against it. His other hand began searching out pressure points in Stiles’ armpit. “Cora, come press against his elbow. Help me cut off blood flow.”

            “You’re a pro, aren’t you?” Stiles mumbles as Cora silently moves to press wrap her hands around Stiles’ elbow.

            “I have a human in my pack. I did my research.”

            Stiles is shaking and Derek frowns. “Are you cold?”

            Stiles nodded jerkily. “Yeah.”

            “He’s going into shock,” Derek announced. “I need to get him out of here. Now.”

            “How?” Cora demanded.

            Chaos suddenly erupted upstairs and Derek felt himself start to grin. “My pack is here. Thank god, my pack is here.”

            “Derek? Stiles?” Scott called.

            “In the basement!” Derek yelled back. “Send a human! A lot of wolfsbane!”

            He listened to a familiar heart work its way into the cellar and slowly toward them.

            He pulled Stiles’ head into his lap. Cora pushed his hand away and replaced it with her own, now putting pressure on the wound and trying to keep it elevated.

            Derek wiped his hands on his shirt to get them as clean as possible before smoothing Stiles’ hair back from his sweaty forehead. “You’re doing so good,” He said, and he sounded emotional in a way he hadn’t since the fire. He cleared his throat. “Talk to me, Stiles.”

            “Am I dying?”

            Derek pressed his hand over Stiles’ heart and leeched the pain away. It wasn’t anything like the pain Derek felt when he was shot with wolfsbane, but Stiles was human and the pain is a lot for him to manage.

            “No.”

            “Why the face, then, Sourwolf?” Stiles stretched a bloody hand up to put his palm on Derek’s cheek, “If I’m not dying?”

            “Maybe I’m just trying not to kill you myself for how _stupid_ you are.”

            Stiles snorted and then flinched. Derek quickly sucked the pain into his own body. Stiles rolled his eyes. “You aren’t allowed to give me that shit. Not after I spent days nursing you back to health after you got shot _twice.”_

“You should have let the bullet hit me. I heal.”

            “Not from _this,_ you wouldn’t. You think she’d come into a room with two werewolves armed with anything less than wolfsbane? There’s probably mistletoe in this, too. You’d have died.”

            “I’ve survived wolfsbane and mistletoe bullets and arrows before.”

            “Yes, and you come closer to dying each time! This would have been too close to your heart! I wouldn’t have time to get you through the wolfsbane infested room, to Deaton, and have you get the transfusions you’d need. You’d die.”

            Derek almost told him he’d rather that but the look Stiles gave him made him think twice. “Meanwhile, I have a stupid gunshot wound to my _arm._ I’ll survive. The wolfsbane doesn’t hurt me.” Stiles shrugged. “I’d rather it be this way.”

            Derek glared at him. “Since when are you willing to take a bullet for me, anyway?” It was meant to be sarcastic, but he failed miserably and it came out way too serious.

            Stiles sighed and made a little face. “I think it’s always been this way, man. I think we’ve kind of always been willing to do whatever it takes for each other.”

            Derek ran his thumb over Stiles’ temple. “It makes sense for me. You’re my mate and I’ve known that since the very first time I saw you in the woods that day.  But you...”

            Stiles shrugged and grimaced. Derek pulled some pain away. “Maybe I just subconsciously knew. Maybe some part of me knew that you’d be willing to die for me and for some reason I just automatically did the same thing. I’ve never thought twice, Derek. Not that day in the pool, not when I pulled the gun out in school, not when I wrapped my arms around you to keep the bullet from killing you. Protecting you has always been instinctive.”

            Derek looks down at him and feels his heart clench. Stiles’ heart had been alternating between racing in pain and slowing because of shock, but it hadn’t faltered during his little speech. He wasn’t lying.

            “If you weren’t injured right now, I’d kiss you.” Derek said quietly.

            “I think you should kiss me anyway.” Stiles replied. Derek snorted.

            “Of course you do.”

            “I think you two should keep your mouths to yourselves in front of me.”

            Derek may or may not have jumped in surprise. He’d forgotten Cora was there.

            “Someone’s getting close. Should I be afraid?” Cora asked.

            Derek listened for a brief second and then shook his head. “It’s our friend Lydia.”

            “Mm, Derek?”

            Derek hummed in reply and used the bottom of his shirt to wipe sweat from Stiles’ face.

            “Can you make me a promise? Please?”

            “You’re not dying, Stiles.”

            “I know. Still, though, please.”

            “Okay.”

            “When we get out of here, promise me you’ll stay like this. Promise me you’ll talk to me. Don’t close me out again, okay? No being mean to me for my own good.”

            Derek ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “I promise.”

            Stiles was smiling at him when the door opened and a flashlight was being shined inside. “Thank you,” Stiles said weakly. “Thanks, Der.”

            “Lydia,” Derek said to the searching flashlight and he was horrified by how wrecked his voice was. “Stiles has been shot.”

            “Oh my god.” She came into the room, shining the flashlight over to where they were on the ground. She slid down onto her knees, the flashlight sliding from her fingers as she reached toward Stiles with shaking hands. “Is he...?”

            “Not dead yet, Lyds,” Stiles mumbled.

            “Your dad is waiting out front with a getaway car. Let’s go.”

            Derek got up and pulled Stiles carefully with him. Stiles was shaking too hard to stand so Derek decided against making him walk. He swept his mate up into his arms as gently as possible so not to jostle his arm.

            He looked back at Cora. “You can’t leave yet, can you?”

            She shook her head. “No. I can’t. For the _hundredth_ time, the wolfsbane out there would kill me.”

            Lydia frowned and shrugged off a sweater, offering it to Cora. “Can you cover your nose and mouth with this until we get out?”

            Cora frowned. “Maybe?”

            “Try,” Derek encouraged.

            “What if halfway through it stops working?”

            “Then you’ll pass out and I’ll give Stiles to Lydia and run you whichever way we’re closest to.”

            She seemed hesitant but she covered the bottom half of her face with the fabric and then they stepped through the door and were on their way.

 

            It took less time than it did when Derek and Stiles were chained together. Derek didn’t take any breaks to clear his head from the wolfsbane. When they made it up the stairs, Cora dropped the sweater and began coughing and vomiting violently. Derek could feel the same reflex, but he ignored it. There was a battle going on around him. All he could hear was growling. His pack was fighting hard, but this was a pack of alphas they were up against. They needed him.

            He sprinted outside, following the Sheriff’s scent. He found the Sheriff in the Jeep right outside. He eased Stiles into the seat and buckled him in as he spoke. “Get him to a hospital. He has a gunshot wound in his left bicep. He’s gone into shock and he stopped talking ten minutes ago. Drive fast.”

            “Wait,” Cora said, limping toward them. “Can I come? I’m too weak to do anything other than get in the way in a fight.”

            Derek nodded once and she slid into the back seat.

            “Go now. Drive as fast as you can and don’t stop, no matter what you hear.”

            He expected the Sheriff to object to being given orders, but the man just nodded once, threw the car into drive, and waited for Derek to close the door. The instant it was closed, he was moving.

            Derek sprinted back into the building, changing as he did. He had never experienced bloodlust this strong in his life. These people hurt Stiles and he wanted to rip them apart limb by limb himself.

            For the first time in his life, Derek found himself on all fours, in his full wolf position. A deafening roar ripped free of his throat and he sprinted into the room. Boyd was pinned by an alpha, and Erica was on his back, trying to claw him. Another alpha was coming at her back. Derek didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He threw himself forward and ripped the throat out of the alpha that had been ready to kill Erica.

            Nothing had ever felt better in his life.

            He was seeing red, he was overheated, and all he wanted was death.

            It didn’t take nearly as long as he would have expected. With the anger-induced haze he was in, he ended up doing the most of the dirty work. He killed four alphas. The pack took care of the rest and he didn’t wait to see how many there were. Once there was no one left but his pack, he gave a sharp nod at the pack and sprinted on all fours to the Stilinski house.


	16. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek talk. Derek is a closet romantic. It's sickeningly sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my biggest OTP along with Sterek is Derek/happiness so I think I'm going to write one more chapter to bring it all together and then I think this fic is over. There are a few loose ends I want to tie up but then I think I'm good.

Derek was stuck in his wolf form. No matter how hard he focused on his humanity, he couldn’t shift back. He tried to think about Stiles, about his laugh,  his smile, what it felt like when he ran his long fingers through Derek’s hair, the way he asked to be Derek’s anchor.

            But it wouldn’t work. He paced outside the Stilinski house and waited for them to get home. Eventually the Jeep pulled up. “Wait for me, don’t get out without me,” The Sheriff said.

            “I’m _fine,_ Dad.”

            “You just had _surgery,_ Stiles.”

            “They numbed me and took a bullet out. It’s no biggie.”

            The Sheriff’s sigh was heavy. “I don’t think I even want to know what your life has been like recently that this is _no biggie.”_

“I almost had to cut Derek’s arm off once. I can handle surgery.”

            Derek moved to the side of the house, his black fur blending in with the shadows. He let his eyes flash red and he growled, trying to get their attention.

            “Jesus Christ!” Stiles nearly fell over. “That better be you, Derek, because I _really_ can’t deal with any more alphas tonight.”

            Derek grunted and met Stiles’ gaze.

            Stiles walked toward him slowly and his dad made an angry noise. “ _Stiles._ We don’t know if that’s Derek! _Do not touch that wolf.”_

He sounded more exasperated than anything as Stiles stopped in front of Derek and reached a slow hand out. Derek leaned forward, giving Stiles permission. His long fingers carded through the fur at the top of Derek’s head and he was surprised but just how _good_ it felt. He couldn’t stop the purr that shook his body.

            Stiles’ laugh was breathless. “It _is_ you.” He continued to pet Derek with the arm that wasn’t wounded. “You’re _gorgeous.”_

Derek growled and Stiles laughed. “Sorry, sorry. You’re a terrifying monster.”

            Derek head butted Stiles in the side gently.

            “So why are you like this? I mean, not that I _mind,_ I’ve always wanted a dog, but I believe you agreed to talk about things with me.”

            Derek growled loudly at the dog comment and Stiles just ignored him. The Sheriff, however, seemed to be having heart palpitations. “Stiles, will you _please_ just get away from it?”

            “It’s _Derek,_ Dad.”

            “You _think.”_

“Would any other wolf let me pet it? I mean, really?”

            Derek dropped down to rest on the ground, and Stiles sat down beside him. “Go inside, Dad. Give us a few minutes.”

            The Sheriff gave him a dirty look but walked toward  the house. “At least go around back. If the neighbors see—”

            “If our neighbors see your son outside with a large black wolf, tell them they’re seeing things,” Stiles snapped.

            The Sheriff rolled his eyes and went inside. Stiles slid down and laid his head on Derek’s back, reaching out and playing with his paw. “So I’m guessing you’re stuck like this, aren’t you? Because I figure there’s no way you’d _choose_ to stay in this form right now. I’m sure you can’t wait until you can yell at me for saving your life.”

            Derek let out a low rumble.

            “So do we need to take you to Deaton? Or is this something you can sleep off? Honestly, I don’t know if I can handle going to Deaton tonight. It’s been a long day.”

            Derek shook his body until Stiles got the hint and sat up. Derek walked around and hit his nose against Stiles’ back door.

            “Um, you can come in if you promise not to track mud through the house, pee on the carpet, or scratch the couch. I _think_ those are the reasons my dad objected to pets.”

            Derek glared and rolled his eyes.

            “ _Oh my god,_ you did _not_ just roll you eyes when you are literally a large wolf.”

            Stiles pushed open the door and Derek was careful not to leave footprints as he walked past the Sheriff and up the stairs to Stiles’ room.

            Stiles kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, letting out a low sigh. When Derek just looked at him, he sighed and patted the bed beside him. “Come on. Just done scratch anything.”

            Derek jumped up onto the bed and Stiles scooted around to snuggle against him. They were beginning to fall asleep when the door opened and the Sheriff sighed.

            “I should be surprised, _and horrified,_ to see a wolf in my son’s bed. It really says a lot, I think, that I’m not.”

            Stiles grunted. “’mm tired. Can we talk tmm’row?”

            “Put him outside before bed.”

            “ _No,_ Dad. It’s Derek. He won’t pee on the furniture.”

            “Stiles—”

            “Please, Dad? Please, I just—I need him tonight, okay?”

            Derek hears the man sigh. “This is a one-time thing, okay? We are not hosting sleepovers with animals.”

            “Mm, thanks.”

            “Goodnight, Son. I love you.”

            “Love you, too.”

            The door closed softly and then Stiles was dragging himself to his feet, peeling off his blood-stained hoodie and jeans, wiggling into red plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt with two stick figures, one of them missing the main line for its body. _I got your back_ it says, and the complete person is holding a line in their hand. Derek rolled his eyes.

            Stiles climbed back up onto the bed, tugging the blanket out from under Derek and then curling it around himself like a burrito. He pressed into Derek, holding him close as if he _wasn’t_ a dangerous predator.

            Stiles’ breathing evened out after a few moments and Derek lulled himself to sleep with the sound of his mate’s beating heart.

*          *          *

            He woke up freezing cold. He shifted his weight and felt his stomach drop. He was back in his human form, and he was completely naked.

            He began slowly shifting out of Stiles’ grip, easing himself out of the bed. He tiptoed across the room, trying desperately not to wake him up.

            He dug through Stiles’ drawers until he found a pair of gray sweatpants that would have to do. He bent over to put them on and heard Stiles’ heart skip a beat as he let out a low whistle. “Holy _shit,_ man, your _ass.”_

Once the pants were settled on his hips he turned around to try to give Stiles an unimpressed look. He must’ve failed though; his ears where burning and his heart was too fast.

            “You want a shirt or nah?” He asked, blatantly eying Derek’s chest and stomach.

            Derek shrugged. “That depends. Are you going to be a blanket hog some more?”

            Stiles rolled his eyes and began freeing himself from the way the blanket was tangled around him. “I figured you didn’t need any since, ya know, you had a fur coat.”

            Derek rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed, letting him drape the blanket across his lap.

            “So, can we talk now?”

            He looked at Stiles and sighed. “Yeah.”

            “Okay. So let me start by saying _how dare you._ Really? You waited this long to tell me that I’m your _mate?”_

Derek pressed his lips together and looked away but Stiles continued.

            “If we _hadn’t_ ended up tied together in a creepy cellar would you have even told me?”

            “Probably not,” Derek admitted.

            “Why? What the hell is wrong with you?”

            “We went over this last night.”     

            “Humor me.”

            Derek swallowed. “I just—you’re a great person, Stiles. And you love everyone and you take chances and risk your life for the people you care about without thinking twice and for some reason you’ve always included _me_ in that. And it’s scary, okay? I’ve never had someone willing to do that for me. And I just know I’m going to mess this up and make you hate me, and it’d be easier to cope as I just lost you as a friend, nothing more.”

            “Derek—”

            “No, wait, let me finish. Everyone around me gets hurt, okay? My parents and Cora, Laura, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, Scott, Lydia. . . I’m _toxic,_ Stiles. I’m not going to apologize for wanting to save you from that—from me.”

            Stiles stares at him for a long time and then grunts. “You really think this, don’t you? You really blame yourself.” He reached out a skinny hand and cradled Derek’s jaw, running a thumb along his cheekbone. “Nothing that has happened to you has been your fault. _Kate Argent_ killed your family, not you. Erica, Boyd, Jackson, and Isaac are your _pack._ You would never hurt them. Anything that happens to them is because of the shit you’re up against, because of  the way this lifestyle _is._ You have never, _ever_ hurt Scott. Hell, if anyone has done anything to hurt Scott, it’s me. Which one of us dragged him into the woods in the middle of the night to find a dead body?”

            “That’s not your fault.”

            “You're right. It’s not. It’s Peter’s. Peter is also the reason Lydia got hurt. _Not you._ You’re not to blame, Derek. You’re never to blame.”

            Derek’s throat felt swollen. He forced himself to swallow down the lump forming in it, because Stiles was looking at him with big eyes filled with a fondness he never thought would be aimed at him.

            “I don’t—you could do so much better than me, Stiles.”

            “I disagree. Do you want me to wax poetic about you? Because I can,” He grinned. “I think you’re brave and honest and loyal and protective and strong, you’re _so_ strong, and—”

            Derek cut him off by reaching out, grabbing his chin, and pulling their mouths together. Stiles let out a breathy noise and twisted his fingers in Derek’s hair, tugging him closer. Derek was the one who ended it, pressing their foreheads together when they were both breathing a little harder than usual.

            “I’m kind of crazy about you,” Stiles said quietly. “So it doesn’t matter what you think I deserve.”

            Derek leaned in and kissed him again. “I’m crazy about you, too. I want what’s best for you, which is the only reason I didn’t want to tell you. The last thing I want to do is tie you down to this town. It’s so dangerous here.”

            Stiles rolled his eyes. “You’re not the only thing keeping me here, dude. I grew up here. My dad is here. _My mom is here._ Beacon Hills will always be home to me.”

            It felt like a punch to Derek’s chest when Stiles mentioned his mother. It was still a shock that he trusted him with that.

            “Can I ask you something?”

            “Of course,” Derek said at once. “We’re talking things through, remember?”

            Stiles smiled a little but something was off with his expression. Derek felt himself grow serious and nervous. “What is it?”

            “Cora and I talked a little bit when my dad was taking us to the hospital and we were waiting and all that and... She told me she couldn’t wait to get out of Beacon Hills. She said that as soon as you took care of the alphas, the two of you were going to pack up and get the hell out of here.”

            Derek felt his eyebrows push together. “That... I don’t know where she came up with that. I really don’t. We haven’t had any time to talk about anything. I don’t even know where she _is_ right now.”

            “She’s at the house—your house. We dropped her off on our way home. We offered her our couch but she declined. Isaac’s staying with her, I think.”

            Derek sighed. “Well, _I’m_ not going anywhere. She can leave if she wants. That’s fine. All I know is that _I’m_ staying here. I’m not leaving you.”

            Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Der. If you are unhappy here, go. Please. I’d rather be without you and know you’re happy than be with you while you’re miserable.”

            “I could never be miserable if I’m with you,” Derek said and Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes.

            “Ew, you’re such a closet romantic.”

            “Shut up,” Derek mumbled.

            “It’s adorable.”

            Derek rolled his eyes and leaned forward to kiss Stiles softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Stiles' pajama shirt, btw:  
> http://azprecisiongraphics.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/ive-got-your-back.png


	17. End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek Hale got all the good things he deserved and he is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god. I finished it. And now I'm emotional but I'm really proud. I like the way this turned out. I'd love it if you could comment and let me know what YOU think

“So,” Derek said. “Where have you been for the last seven years?”

            Cora glanced up from the magazine in her lap and her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you care now?”

            Derek felt his eyebrows furrow. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

            “Nothing, I just spent seven years locked in a cellar while you carried on with your life like it didn’t matter. Did you even _try_ to look for me?”

            “I thought you were _dead,_ Cora!”

            “Did you even think for a second that wasn’t the case? Did you even have any _evidence_ suggesting I didn’t make it out of there alive?”

            “I had no reason to believe you survived! Why would I? _My girlfriend locked my family in the basement and set the house on fire!_ When Laura, Peter, and I were deemed the only survivors, why would I question it? I watched my house burn, Cora. I watched everyone I love die. And it was my fault. So no, my first reaction wasn’t _do you think my little sister could have escaped without telling anyone and got kidnapped and trapped in a cellar somewhere?_ I’m _sorry.”_

He heard her grind her teeth. She lurched up to her feet. “You’re right. It was your fault. It’s your fault they died and it’s your fault I spent seven years in hell.”

            Derek hears Stiles’ voice in his head, remembers the hand on his cheek. _Nothing that happened to you was your fault._

“No, you know what, it _wasn’t_. I had no idea Kate was a psychotic killer. I had no idea you were taken.”

            “And what about Laura, then?”

            “Peter killed Laura, not me.”

            Cora’s face dropped and she looked horrified. “Uncle Peter?”

            Derek’s lips thinned. “Shit. I guess there was a better way to tell you that.”

            Cora starts pacing, her hands shoving through her hair. “Nearly our entire family died, our uncle killed our sister. . . What else did I miss?”

            “Wait, what do you mean, _miss?_ You were there when they died.”

            “No, I wasn’t. I got taken on my way home from school. That night they told me my entire family burned to death except for Laura, Uncle Peter, and you. I didn’t believe them. It was _true?”_

            Derek nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. We also had Peter bite an innocent teenager named Scott, who is Stiles’ best friend.” Something warm went through him as he said Stiles’ name. “And then a high schooler turned into a Kanima—which is a lizard that can temporarily paralyze people—and we killed Peter but he used the Kanima’s girlfriend to resurrect himself. And you know about the alphas.”

            She sat back down. “You’ve been through hell, haven’t you, Derek?”

            He shrugged and looked away. “It hasn’t been easy.”

            “Will you tell me about your mate?”

            His head snapped around to stare at her. “What?”

            She rolled her eyes and patted the couch beside her. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

            He sat.

            “He’s pretty.” She commented. “Nice eyes. But does he _ever_ shut up?”

            Derek grinned. “Never.”

            “And he’s _your_ mate? You’re sure about that?”

            “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

            “How did you _know?”_

“We met in the middle of the woods next to our property. I went over to tell him he was trespassing on private property. The instant I saw him, though, something in my stomach lurched and it was like... It felt like I gravitated toward him naturally. And then we kept saving each other’s lives and getting thrown together and he forced himself under my skin and I fell in love with him.”

            “But wait, you still had to fall in love with him? If you’re mates...”

            “My wolf fell in love with him the minute I saw him. _I_ fell in love with him when he held my paralyzed body above water for two hours straight.”

            Cora blinked and then sighed. “Der... I just.. He’s _human._ You have such bad luck with relationships already... Do you think it’s a good idea to get involved with someone so ... breakable?”

            Derek sighed. “Stiles isn’t nearly as fragile as you’d think. I’m pretty sure he’s more likely to flail into a wall and give himself a concussion than to get hurt because of what I am.”

            Cora raised an eyebrow. “You realize this is the same boy who got kidnapped yesterday?”

            “And he’s still alive,” Derek snapped. “And he’ll stay alive. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead like four different times by now. Stiles and I save each other. We always have and we always will.”

            Cora sighed. “I can see that. You _really_ care about him. And he definitely loves you if he’s willing to die just to be with you. So you need to stay here and be with him and be happy. But I can’t stay here. I can’t. I can’t live in the house our entire family burned to death in. I can’t stay in a town where things go wrong every week. I need to get out.”

            Derek nodded slowly. “That makes sense. I can understand that.”

            “So this morning I had Isaac take me to the library and I applied to NYU for next school year. I managed to dig up my transcript from high school and included a letter telling them that after my entire family died in a fire, and I was kidnapped, I took some time to myself to fly under the radar and recover. But now I am ready to continue my life and education. I think I’ll get in. So I just need some money, and then I’m booking a flight and moving to New York.”

            Derek raised his eyebrows. “This seems very well thought out.”   

            “Yeah, well, when you’re trapped in a cellar for seven years, you get a lot of time to think about what you want to do if you ever get out. And this is what I want to do.”

            Derek smiled at her. “Then I’ll support you. Whatever it takes to make you happy.”

            She smiled back and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You’re the best big brother _ever.”_

He snorted and pulled his wallet out, offering her the card to the back account with his inheritance. “Here, go book yourself a flight. Start looking into costs of apartments and I’ll make the withdrawal. You’re entitled to half of this money, too. So let me know how much of it you’ll be needing per month for rent and groceries and textbooks and tuition and I’ll do the best I can. I’ll get a job if I have to.”

            “You’re _seriously_ the best, Der. Do you have any conditions to go along with this?”

            He grinned. “Just that you call to check in at least once a week and you come up here every once in a while. I don’t want you to be gone forever. And if anything happens you call me. I’ll be on the first flight to New York with my pack and we’ll help you out. Be careful. It’s not safe to be an omega. Fly under the radar.”

            Cora nodded. “Will do. Thanks, Der.”

            He smiled at her. “Of course. Wait a second, I forgot something.”

            Derek got up and went upstairs, getting the teddy bear off his bed. He brought it down and held it out to her. “If you’re going to be in a big city by yourself, you might need something familiar.”

            Her jaw dropped a little bit and her whole expression softened as she grabbed the bear and hugged it to her chest. “How did it survive the fire? And didn’t I tell you to throw it away _years_ before that?”

            “Yeah, but I hid it in the stairs instead. In case you ever needed it. Stiles found it when we redid the place.”

            Cora buried her  nose in the fur and inhaled. When she lifted her face back up, her eyes were wet. “It smells like Mom.”

            Derek tugged her into a hug and he clung to the sister he never thought he would see again. “I love you, Cora.”

            “I love you too. I’m sorry I’m leaving so soon.”

            “Don’t be. It’s okay. Do what makes you happy. It’ll all be okay. You’ll love New York.”

            “I’ll call you every day. We won’t lose touch. I promise.”      

            “I believe you,” Derek whispered. And he did.

*          *          *

            Derek was right. Everything _was_ okay.

            Cora got accepted to NYU and started her freshman year the following fall. She got in a serious relationship, but it ended when the second semester started and she discovered that her anthropology professor was her mate. He’s a werewolf, too, and they decided to try to make it work despite the age gap. She sleept with the teddy bear every night and video chatted Derek twice a week.

            Erica and Boyd stayed together. Once they both turned eighteen, they got an apartment together. They came to every pack meeting and held hands during every movie night. Six months after they graduated from high school, Erica announced that she was pregnant. They had a beautiful baby girl named Luna. Derek was Luna’s godfather and her favorite uncle.

            Isaac lived with Derek until he graduated high school. He went away to college and got a girlfriend. She wasn’t his mate, but he said it didn’t matter, he loved her and wanted to be with _her._ He wasn’t going to wait around for a mate. She was human, but he told her about what he was. She was a little afraid at first, but she got used to it. She and Stiles became good friends and they liked to discuss the pros and cons of dating werewolves.

            Jackson and Lydia broke up and got back together several times through the years. They went to different colleges and took a break for those years. After they graduated, they both came back to Beacon Hills and got married. There had been a few close calls where divorce had been discussed, but they always fixed it.

            Scott and Allison stayed together, too. After high school, they went to the same college. Allison had to do a lot of tutoring, but Scott passed with pretty good grades. They got married and started their own family. It took some time for Chris Argent to adjust to the idea, but eventually he accepted it. Scott made Allison happy; who was he to argue with that? They made Stiles the godfather of _their_ children, and Uncle Derek and Uncle Stiles’ house is their favorite place to be babysat.  

            And Stiles and Derek were _really_ happy. Stiles went away to college but they made the long distance relationship work. By the time he was a junior, same-sex marriage had been legalized. A year and a half after Stiles’ college graduation, they got married. Two years later, they adopted a baby girl. They named her Laura Stilinski-Hale.

            The Sheriff got over his alcoholism pretty quickly. Stiles supported him endlessly and went to as many AA meetings as the Sheriff would let him. Sometime during Stiles’ freshman year of college, the Sheriff and Melissa McCall started dating. Melissa moved in with the Sheriff after Stiles moved in with Derek, and Scott and Allison moved into Melissa’s old house. The Sheriff told Derek years ago to start calling him John. By the time Laura was three, he did.

            Peter didn’t really stick around. He moved to some town in Washington. He called every now and then to check in and let Derek know he was still alive. He seemed to be the same uncle Derek remembered from his childhood but he was still hesitant to trust it. He was glad Peter put the distance between them.

            It took years, but Derek was finally happy. He had a husband, a daughter, a sister, in-laws, and a pack and a family he loved them all.  


End file.
